Rico still remembered the first time he saw her swaying up on stage, hips mesmerizing every man, woman, and unspecified in the pub. And he was no exception to the rule. It was her beauty that kept him coming back, kept him flirting in hopes that she would finally give in to his persistence and let him take care of her—so that he may be able to watch her dance for him for the rest of their lives.

And yet, she hasn't. Every time he thought he was close to cracking open that beautiful woman's heart, she finds ways to wiggle out of his grasp like a frightened weasel. Insisting that it just wasn't the right time or she just wasn't ready, and that was okay. He was okay with it—truly, because it just meant that she would be ready one day and he could keep her to himself like he wants.

The show tonight was different, though. More provocative, and it felt more personal than the rest. Where her shows would normally contain old timey dances to jazz, this performance had her in revealing clothing and with movements that had him shifting in his seat with an uncomfortable tightness straining on his groin. And yet, he did not take his eyes off of her. No, he refused to. To him, art such as the shows that she put on needed to be appreciated... and Rico certainly did.

He only tore his steady gaze from hers when he caught movement by the stage to his right. A drunk man had approached her with a pen and a napkin, reaching up to grab her ankle and—by extension—her attention. Rico watched the scene with a wariness that kept him ready to act for when her body language inevitably screamed uncomfortable. When she simply ignored him and carried on with her routine, the drunken man frowned and set the pen and napkin down on the stage in front of him.

"Come on, sexy, you out 'ere puttin' on a show for all these men, but you can't spare me a few digits?" He called out to her, leaning further against the stage in an attempt to close more distance between the two. She still hadn't responded, was still performing to her heart's content, which made the stranger angrier.

Maybe it was the alcohol in his blood, maybe the stranger was always this stupid, Rico didn't care what it was. What Rico cared about was the fact that this man, with a fury in his eyes that only a man who's been disregarded can truly achieve, was currently trying to climb onto the platform where she was performing.

Without even thinking about it, Rico was on his feet and crossing the distance in a matter of seconds. He didn't know if the pub's bouncers were already on the way to kick the man out, wasn't even sure what he planned to do, but he saw a potential threat to her safety and couldn't have it. He pressed his hand against the drunk's chest and shoved him away from the stage, forcing a wedge between him and her with his own body.

The man didn't give him time to duck before his fist came crashing into Rico's cheek, sending him stumbling back against the stage. By the time he doubled back, security already had the man by the biceps and were dragging him out of the pub while he kicked and screamed about 'claiming what's his'. Rico watched with a dark glare, fingers digging into the edge of the stage as if physically holding himself back from following and retaliating for the bruise he was sure had already been forming.

But security had it handled... and she was behind him, no doubt frightened. Rico took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, and turned around to look up at her. He didn't say anything, giving her the option to come to him instead of he wanted to. He wouldn't push.