Hugo stood at the end of the queue outside Velvet Inferno, the most infamous strip club in the city.
The neon lights bathed the pavent in a pinkish glow, and the bass from the music inside was so heavy it vibrated his chest alongside his own nervous heart.
He looked down at his outfit for the millionth ti.
Black leather jacket? Check.
Clean white shirt that showcased his muscular build? Check.
Cool black jeans that weren't too tight? Check.
Fresh white sneakers that practically scread "I have my life together"? Double-check.
New Boxers? Triple Check!
He even styled his hair, which he never bothered to do, and judging by the sideways glances from so of the girls in the line, he'd nailed the look.
'Alright, Hugo,' he told himself. 'You're looking good. Stay confident. Play it cool. Tonight's your night.'
But inside, he was panicking. 'Lady Luck, please, I'm begging you. Just let pull this off. Just one girl. That's all I'm asking for. I'll donate to a dog shelter or sothing later. Promise.'
The fake ID in his pocket felt heavy. Hugo hadn't stopped stressing about it since Sanchez, his self-proclaid "ntor in life and bad decisions," handed it to him earlier that day.
Earlier that day, Hugo had confessed his woes about getting into a club to his ever-resourceful ntor, Sanchez.
Sanchez, with the wisdom of a man who'd lived a thousand questionable nights, had smirked and said, "Kid, you don't need confidence. You need connections."
"I've got connections, kid," Sanchez had said smugly, pulling out an ID that looked so legit Hugo almost forgot it wasn't. "This baby got a 16-year-old into a poker tournant in Vegas. You'll be fine."
So here he was, ard with the confidence of a poorly rehearsed plan and a whole lot of prayer.
Finally, it was Hugo's turn at the door. The bouncer was massive. He looked like he could wrestle a bear and win.
Hugo tried not to stare at the guy's bulging arms, which were probably larger than his thighs.
"ID," the bouncer growled, holding out a hand the size of a dinner plate.
Hugo swallowed hard and handed it over, trying to keep a calm expression. Inside, his nerves were screaming. 'This is it. They're gonna know. I'm gonna get kicked out. Or worse, arrested. What if they make call my mom?'
The bouncer squinted at the ID, then at Hugo, then back at the ID. The tension felt like it lasted hours. Then, with a shrug, the bouncer handed it back and waved him inside.
Hugo blinked. 'That's it? I'm in?'
'YES!' He nearly fist-pumped but caught himself just in ti. Instead, he casually strolled in, trying to look like he belonged there.
The inside of Velvet Inferno was a sensory overload. Red and purple lights flickered across every surface.
The music was so loud it felt like it was shaking his bones. The air slled like a weird mix of perfu, alcohol, and sweat.
On the stage, a stunning blonde spun around a pole like it was an Olympic sport. Hugo had no idea how she made it look so effortless, but it was impressive.
The place was packed. Groups of n huddled around tables, cheering and throwing money.
A few won were scattered here and there, sipping drinks and looking like they owned the world. Hugo took it all in, trying not to look too wide-eyed.
"Man," he muttered, "Collins would've loved this."
His best friend, Collins—the golden boy with natural charm—had bailed on him tonight. Sothing about a family dinner with his mom. "Family first, bro," Collins had said.
Hugo got it, but still, it would've been nice to have his wingman here.
Determined not to waste the night, Hugo headed for the bar. The bartender was… sothing else.
He was short, with a pencil-thin moustache that curled at the ends, and eyes that looked like they'd seen too much.
He gave off the vibe of a guy who'd deal you a drink and maybe a black-market organ if you asked nicely.
"What'll it be?" the bartender asked in a gruff voice, not even looking up as he wiped down a glass that sohow looked dirtier than before.
Hugo hesitated. He didn't want to order sothing dumb and blow his cover. "Uh… just a beer. Sothing simple."
The bartender raised an eyebrow. "Simple, huh? You sure you're in the right place, kid?"
Hugo forced a laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure. Surprise ."
The bartender grunted, grabbed a random bottle, and poured sothing into a glass. It looked more like motor oil than beer, but Hugo took it anyway.
One sip, and his throat burned like he'd swallowed fire. He coughed but quickly covered it up, trying to act cool.
As Hugo sipped his "drink," he scanned the room—and that's when he saw her.
She stood near the corner, away from the loud groups. A tall woman with dark, wavy hair that frad her sharp features.
She wore a red dress that hugged her curves like it had been made just for her.
The way she held her martini glass scread elegance, but her confident smirk said she wasn't soone you ssed with.
Hugo froze. She was gorgeous, like the kind of woman who walked into a room and made everyone else fade into the background.
Target acquired, he thought, his heart racing.
He adjusted his jacket, straightened his posture, and took a deep breath. 'Alright, Hugo. This is your chance. Be cool. Be confident. And for the love of God, don't trip on your way over.'
With a final swig of his terrible drink, Hugo made his move, weaving through the crowd toward the stunning woman in red.
Tonight, he was determined to make sothing happen.
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[A/N: Another exciting mini arc is about to comnce! Get your pop corns ready!]
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