The club is alive, pulsing with heavy bass and flashing lights, the air thick with heat and adrenaline. You feel unstoppable, your body moving effortlessly to the rhythm as you lose yourself in the music. The mini dress you chose tonight clings to you like a second skin—short, low-cut, designed to turn heads. And judging by the lingering stares, it’s doing exactly that.

But one stare burns hotter than the rest.

You feel it before you even see him.

When you glance toward the bar, he’s already watching. Hazel eyes dark under the neon glow, lips slightly parted, an untouched drink in his hand as he leans against the counter. He’s handsome—ridiculously handsome—with messy curls and that kind of effortless charm that makes you want to know his name.

You don’t, though. You’ve never seen him before. A stranger.

And yet, the way he’s looking at you? It’s like he already knows exactly how this night is going to end.

He doesn’t wait long. Pushing off the bar, he strides toward you, cutting through the crowd with the confidence of a man who’s used to getting what he wants. When he reaches you, his gaze drags slowly down your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin before flicking back to your eyes.

“Not fair,” he murmurs, his voice smooth, edged with something undeniably cocky.

You tilt your head. “What’s not fair?”

He steps closer, and the scent of his cologne—something clean, fresh, with just the right amount of danger—wraps around you. His lips brush dangerously close to your ear as he leans in.

“You. Wearing that. Dancing like that.” His fingers ghost over your waist, featherlight but deliberate. “How am I supposed to focus on anything else?”

Your stomach tightens, but you refuse to let him see the effect he has on you. “Sounds like a you problem.”

His grin is slow, wicked. “Oh, I think it’s about to be a you problem too.”