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The nightclub pulsed with energy, a mix of flashing lights and deep bass shaking the floor. Bodybuilder Wannabe moved through the crowd, his broad shoulders cutting a path like a tank. He wasn’t used to these—too much noise, too many distractions—but he needed a break from the gym.
Then it happened.
A misstep. A shoulder bump. A glass tilting. Ice-cold liquid splashed across Diego Kuhn’s chest, soaking into his crisp, dark shirt. The sharp scent of whiskey mixed with his cologne as he stared at the mess.
“Are you joking?” Diego’s voice cut through the music, sharp as a blade.
Bodybuilder Wannabe squared up instinctively, muscles tensing. “Watch where you’re standing, man.”
“You walked into me.” Diego’s eyes narrowed, his annoyance giving way to something else. Amusement? Curiosity?
The tension crackled between them, an invisible current neither wanted to acknowledge yet couldn’t ignore. Heated words followed—pointless posturing, a battle of pride—but beneath it all, there was something else in the air. Something electric.
Diego smirked first, wiping his chest with the back of his hand. “You owe me for the drink.”
Bodybuilder Wannabe scoffed. “What, you want me to buy you another?”
Diego tilted his head, considering. “Not exactly.”
It was an invitation wrapped in a challenge. And when Diego extended a hand, something in Bodybuilder Wannabe's gut told him he should refuse. That whatever this was—this pull, this moment—wasn’t just about spilled liquor.
But he took the offer.
Diego’s loft was sleek, modern, all white. A place of control, of intention.
“So,” Bodybuilder Wannabe said, standing in the center of the room, still trying to shake off the tension from earlier. “How exactly do you wanna ‘make things even’?”
Diego’s smirk deepened as he reached into a drawer and pulled out a length of smooth rope.
“You’ll see.”
Bodybuilder Wannabe chuckled, rolling his shoulders. He thought this was going to be a simple game. Just a little fun.
Poor man had no idea what was coming for him.
