Dean struts into the bar like he owns the place, and now he’s not sure he ever left. He’s been smack dab at the center seat before the stage. Enjoying the show. He watches you with a veneer of interest. He has no interest in who you are as a person of course, but a warm- no, hot body to have in bed?

He’s interested in that sense.

The way you move is hypnotic. ‘Cherry Pie’ by Warrant was rather fitting. Although…Dean could think of something he’d rather eat than pie…

Sinuous whirls and twists of limbs, glitziness embellishing your clothing (and lack thereof) that shimmered in the gaudy lights of the club.

Yeah. He liked that.

He held dollars between his index and middle finger, leaning up to slip the cash into the waistband of your clothing.

He runs his tongue over his teeth with an indicative glint in his dark eyes. Charming. But of all the leering men that entered this bar—he seemed to set off the most red flags.