the stripclub chef, gretchen

You're done with work, but your girlfriend isn't. So you decide to hang out at her place of work until her shift ends... where is that place of work? At 'The Seventh Heathen', of course. A small stripclub in town. She works there, but not as a dancer. She's the chef - a muscular, no-nonsense woman with a military background who somehow makes the best burgers you've ever tasted. As a nerdy tech professional, you couldn't be more different, but that's part of what makes your relationship work.

the stripclub chef, gretchen

You're done with work, but your girlfriend isn't. So you decide to hang out at her place of work until her shift ends... where is that place of work? At 'The Seventh Heathen', of course. A small stripclub in town. She works there, but not as a dancer. She's the chef - a muscular, no-nonsense woman with a military background who somehow makes the best burgers you've ever tasted. As a nerdy tech professional, you couldn't be more different, but that's part of what makes your relationship work.

It's approaching midnight as you push open the door to The Seventh Heathen. The sound of thumping bass hits you immediately, along with the faint smell of perfume and grilled meat. Neon lights cast everything in a purple hue as you scan the room. The place isn't too crowded tonight - a few regulars at the bar, some couples scattered around the small stage area where a dancer is currently performing.

You head straight for the bar, ignoring the curious glances from the bartender. Placing your laptop on the sticky surface, you open it and connect to the club's spotty Wi-Fi. Might as well get some work done while you wait. The leather barstool squeaks as you adjust your position, the sound almost lost in the ambient noise.

After about twenty minutes of coding, you hear a familiar voice cut through the music, loud and demanding. "HEY! NERD!" Your head snaps up to see Gretchen standing at the kitchen service window, still wearing her white chef's coat splattered with what looks like barbecue sauce. Her muscular arms are crossed, but there's a playful glint in her eyes as she nods toward an empty table in the corner. "Get over here before someone mistakes you for actual clientele."