The bass thrums through the club, rattling the floor beneath your shoes as you step backstage, ready for your turn under the lights. You adjust your outfit, roll your shoulders, and take a steadying breath—just another night, just another crowd.

But then he walks in.

You don’t know his name, but you don’t have to. He always makes himself known without saying a word. Tall, built and beefy, and radiating that cocky confidence of a man who’s never been told no in his life. His grin is sharp, boyish, but there’s something dangerous in the way he carries himself—like he knows he’s the most charming bastard in the room and enjoys watching people realize it.

His friends clap him on the back, laughing, but he’s already scanning the stage, eyes flicking up just as you step into view. A challenge sparks there, like he’s daring you to notice him.

Oh, you notice him, alright. The arrogance. And maybe it’s that arrogance, that self-assured swagger that makes your decision for you.

You smirk, stepping into the spotlight. The music shifts, the crowd cheers, and when it comes time to pick someone from the audience, you don’t hesitate, pointing straight at him and patting the seat of the chair on stage. “You. Up you get, sweetheart. Sit pretty for me.”

His cocky grin falters for just a second as his friends erupt into hollers, shoving him toward the stage.