Jeremiah | Love At First Sight

The music was loud, the lights were low, and the entire club smelled like expensive cologne, perfume, and champagne.

It was Jeremiah's twenty-third birthday, and his cousins had decided that staying home was absolutely not an option. After enough convincing, they'd managed to get him dressed and out of the house, bringing him along to one of the city's more upscale gentlemen's clubs.

Jeremiah wasn't particularly enthusiastic about the idea.

He sat in the corner of the leather booth, dressed in his usual effortlessly attractive manner: an oversized cream hoodie, dark jeans, silver jewelry, and earrings glinting beneath the dim lighting. His dark twists hung loosely over his forehead, a few falling around his eyes. He had one hand wrapped around his drink, the other resting against his thigh.

He looked relaxed. Almost bored.

That was the thing about Jeremiah. He was a naturally quiet person, not particularly interested in being the loudest man in a room. He had a naturally stoic expression, a dry sense of humor, and a certain cockiness that made him seem much more experienced than he actually was.

He was difficult to read.

What people didn't know was that his confidence had its limits.

Especially when it came to women.

At twenty-three, Jeremiah was still a virgin. He'd never had sex, never experienced genuine intimacy, and had very little experience beyond a few kisses and occasional flirting. It wasn't something he advertised, and he certainly wasn't interested in letting his friends discover it. He wasn't ashamed of it, exactly. He just didn't like the idea of being questioned, teased, or treated differently because of it.

So he kept quiet.

He'd perfected the art of looking unbothered, even when his mind was doing the complete opposite.

"You're quiet as hell tonight," Marcus commented from beside him.

Jeremiah shrugged, taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm always quiet."

"Yeah, whatever."

He didn't bother responding.

His attention wandered around the club, occasionally settling on the stage before drifting elsewhere. He wasn't particularly interested in the dancers. At least, not until you appeared.

The music changed, and the lighting shifted toward the stage.

You stepped into view.

Jeremiah's eyes lifted almost instinctively.

He watched.

At first, it was casual curiosity. Then his attention lingered a little longer than he intended. There was something about your appearance and the way you carried yourself that caught him off guard. You seemed comfortable in your own skin, completely at ease beneath the attention of the crowd.

He found himself looking at you even when he tried to look elsewhere.

His jaw shifted slightly.

He took another sip of his drink.

Damn.

"See somebody you like?" Marcus asked.

Jeremiah glanced at him.

"Nah."

A short pause.

"Just watching."

Marcus laughed but didn't push it.

Jeremiah returned his attention to the stage, his expression remaining relatively neutral. Still, every now and then, his eyes found you again.

He didn't know your name. Didn't know anything about you.

But he noticed you.

And apparently, that was enough for his cousins to get ideas.

A little while later, Marcus informed him that they'd arranged a private birthday dance. Jeremiah immediately looked at him, his eyebrows drawing together.

"You serious?"

"Birthday present."

He stared at his cousin for a moment before looking away, shaking his head.

"Y'all do too much."

He wasn't particularly thrilled about being the center of attention, but he eventually agreed. He wasn't going to make a scene over something as simple as a dance.

At least, that was what he told himself.

The private section was quieter, separated from the main floor by heavy curtains. A leather seat sat beneath the warm, low lighting, with the muffled bass of the music vibrating through the walls.

Jeremiah sat down and adjusted the hem of his hoodie.

Then he checked his phone.

Then he locked it.

Then he checked it again.

He wasn't even reading anything.

He was just trying to give himself something to do.

He'd never had a lap dance before. Not once. He knew the general idea, obviously, but knowing something existed and actually experiencing it were two very different things.

His stomach felt strangely tight.

He leaned back, spreading his legs slightly and resting one arm along the backrest. He tried to look comfortable, casually scrolling through his phone as though he weren't waiting for someone to walk through the curtain.

It's just a dance.

He repeated the thought in his head.

Relax.

Footsteps approached.

His phone screen went dark.

The curtain shifted.

And then you appeared.

Jeremiah looked up.

It took him a second to react.

You were even more striking up close. Without the distance of the stage and the distraction of the crowd, he could properly take in your features. His eyes briefly met yours before wandering away, almost involuntarily.

He swallowed.

Then, remembering himself, he leaned back and gave you a small nod.

"Hey."

Just one word.

His voice was low, slightly raspy, and quieter than it had been when speaking to his friends.

You greeted him and wished him a happy birthday.

"Thank you," he replied, a faint smile appearing on his face.

There was a brief silence.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say.

Usually, Jeremiah could carry himself well enough around women. He wasn't a conversationalist by nature, but he knew how to flirt when he wanted to. Now, however, he was suddenly conscious of everything: where his hands were, how he was sitting, whether he was making too much eye contact.

He discreetly rubbed his thumb against the side of his index finger.

You introduced yourself.

He repeated your name quietly, almost as though committing it to memory.

"That's pretty."

He immediately looked down.

Why the fuck did I say that?

He cleared his throat, trying to hide the small smile threatening to form.

You asked for his name.

"Jeremiah."

You repeated it, and he nodded.

"Yeah."

His eyes returned to yours.

He was trying to hold eye contact, but there was something strangely intimidating about having your attention directed entirely at him. He could feel his heartbeat in his chest, and he hated how aware he was of it.

You asked whether this was his first private dance.

Jeremiah hesitated.

A tiny, almost embarrassed smile tugged at his mouth.

"Yeah."

He glanced away.

"First time."

He hoped you wouldn't ask any follow-up questions.

The truth was that this was more than his first lap dance. He'd never experienced anything remotely similar. At twenty-three, he'd managed to keep his lack of sexual experience entirely private, allowing his quiet confidence and occasional cocky remarks to speak for him.

He wasn't a player.

He wasn't some smooth-talking expert.

He was just a young man who'd never quite gotten around to experiencing the things everyone seemed to assume he'd already done.

And now he was sitting in front of a beautiful woman, trying very hard not to look like he was internally panicking.

You moved a little closer.

Jeremiah's fingers immediately stopped moving.

His shoulders tensed for half a second before he forced himself to relax. He looked at you, then briefly down at his lap, his cock twitching slightly towards you before returning his gaze to your face.

He didn't say anything.

He just gave a small nod when you checked that he was comfortable.

"Yeah. I'm good."

His voice was quiet.

He wasn't entirely sure he was good.

The music changed to something slower, and the atmosphere became even more intimate. Jeremiah leaned back, attempting to recover some of his usual composure. His expression was still relatively unreadable, but the slight tension in his jaw and the restless movement of his fingers gave him away.

He glanced toward the curtain, almost wishing his friends weren't waiting on the other side.

Then he looked back at you.

A faint smirk appeared.

"You always this intimidating?"

It came out quieter than he'd intended.

He let out a little breath of laughter, looking down for a moment.

"Just asking."

For all his efforts to appear unbothered, Jeremiah was a complete nervous wreck beneath the surface. He was overthinking every little interaction, wondering what she were thinking of him and desperately hoping his inexperience wasn't obvious.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this nervous around a woman.

And the worst part?

He was already finding it difficult to look away from her.

He'd arrived at the club expecting an ordinary birthday celebration, something he'd laugh about with his cousins the following morning.

Instead, he was sitting across from a woman whose name he'd only just learned, quietly hoping she'd stay a little longer.

He didn't know it yet, but his twenty-third birthday was about to become a night he'd remember for a very long time.