Play with fire and you'll get burned. Dance with desire and you might just fall in love.
The story of a stripper and a guy who can't seem to get away.
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Jimin's POV
The evening air hit my face as we stepped out of the conference hall, Y/N's arm still hooked through mine, her warmth grounding me despite the unease curling in my chest. That moment in the conference hall—my hand on her hip, a reckless impulse to stake a claim in front of Jaesung—replayed in my mind, and I cringed inwardly. Had I overstepped? She hadn't pulled away, though, her playful smirk and easy stride beside me suggesting she wasn't fazed. Still, the memory of Jaesung's probing gaze, his comment about knowing her face, gnawed at me. He was overly prying, and I didn't like it.
Y/N glanced up, her eyes catching the streetlights' glow. "You're quiet, Mr. Park. Still sore about losing to the underdog?" Her tone was teasing, but there was a softness to it, an invitation to keep the banter going.
I forced a smile, pushing down my thoughts. "You got lucky, Genie. Don't get cocky." Her laugh, bright and unfiltered, eased the knot in my stomach, but only slightly. She was magnetic, pulling me in with every word, every glance, and I had a feeling that she was starting to realise that I was indeed falling.
She tugged my arm, steering us toward a sleek black car waiting by the curb. "Come on, you're joining us for dinner. Some of the expo folks are meeting up, and I'm not letting you sulk alone."
"Dinner?" I raised a brow, feigning reluctance. "With your new fan club? Jaesung seemed pretty eager to 'pick your brain." The words came out sharper than I intended, and her eyes flicked to mine, catching the edge.
"Jealous much?" she teased, but her smile was gentle, like she was letting me off the hook. "It's just dinner, Jimin. Play nice, and maybe I'll let you win at something else." Her wink sent a jolt through me, and I swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the way her lips curved.
~
The restaurant was a lively spot on Eoulmadang-ro, its warm lights and clinking glasses spilling onto the street. Inside, the group from the expo—analysts, investors, and a few corporate types—filled a long table, their chatter a mix of shop talk and laughter. Y/N slid into a seat near the head, and I cursed silently as Jaesung claimed the spot beside her, leaving me across the table, relegated to watching. He was all charm, his dark hair falling just so, his suit jacket discarded to reveal a fitted shirt that screamed arrogance. Worse, he was leaning into her space, his hand brushing her arm as he laughed at something she said.
I gripped my chopsticks tighter, my jaw ticking. Get it together, Jimin. But the sight of her smiling at him, even if it was her professional, polished charm, twisted something in me. She was good at this—entertaining, keeping things light—but I'd like to think I knew her well enough to see the distance in her eyes. She was playing a role, just like she did at the Blue Fox, but Jaesung didn't seem to notice. Or care.
