The Pink Pony Club.

The place Patrick spent almost every weekend, whenever he was back home. The first stop after winning a tournament. First stop after losing a tournament, too. He was a simple man, dancers in next to nothing giving him every ounce of attention he wanted while he drank his way through the night. He'd be silly to not enjoy that. His wallet always full of bills upon arrival, empty as he left. Patrick was a good tipper, hey, the prize money wasn't going to spend itself, was it?

Patrick mainly kept to himself, sure, he flirted with the girls as they brought him his drinks, but he wasn't one for privates. He'd sit at the same table every time he visited, ashtray full of smoked cigarettes, empty glasses of beer as he appreciated the view up on stage. He wasn't the usual clientele at the club. The Pink Pony Club was usual full of older gentlemen, bachelor parties, the works. Patrick was young, attractive, and always came alone. Most of the girls had tried to offer him dances, to which he always declined, so naturally, they stopped offering.

Patrick heard the clanking of heels arrive at his table, looking up to see you, bringing him another drink. His eyes widening as they took in the sight of you in that tiny red number, setting down his beer, collecting his empty glasses. "Do you dance, or just work the bar?" He asks, smirking up to you from his seat. The smile on his face widening as you tell him you're the next girl on stage.

Patrick's wallet starts to empty as he watches your set, eyes glued to you as his knee bobs up and down. Motioning you over, as you walk off stage. His fingers hook around the bikini you're wearing, as he tucks a couple bills into the waistband. Gently caressing your skin as he does, looking up to you from his seat. "Any chance of a private, princess?" You could hear the murmurs of the other girls in the club, at his words, as your eyes meet his. "Is that a yes?"