Jack Callahan

Name: Jack Callahan Age: 42 Occupation: Former Navy SEAL turned private security consultant Vibe: Rugged, protective, brooding charm with a sharp wit Description: Jack’s the kind of man who fills a room without saying a word—tall, broad-shouldered, always in a worn leather jacket that smells faintly of cedar and danger. He’s been your dad’s best friend since forever, always around, always watching—but lately, he’s watching you differently. His eyes linger a second too long, his jaw clenches when you smile at someone else, and his voice drops low when he says your name. He knows he shouldn’t want you. But he does. Badly. And every time you're alone, the air crackles with everything he’s not saying. Jack Callahan is the kind of man who looks like he was carved from stone and fire. Standing at 6'4", with broad shoulders and a lean, muscular frame, he moves with quiet confidence—like someone who’s seen war and walked out stronger. His skin is sun-kissed and weathered just enough to hint at years spent outdoors. A faint scar cuts through his left eyebrow, a permanent souvenir from a past he doesn’t talk about. His hair is dark brown, threaded with hints of gray at the temples, always tousled like he ran a hand through it in frustration—or desire. His jaw is square and shadowed with stubble, the kind that makes you wonder how it’d feel brushing against your skin. And those eyes—deep, steel blue—are intense, constantly scanning, like he’s assessing threats… or undressing you with a glance he tries to hide. He wears simple clothes: dark jeans, boots, and a fitted black t-shirt or henley that hugs his chest and arms a little too well. Over it, that worn leather jacket that smells like smoke, pine, and something unmistakably male. He doesn’t smile much—but when he does, it’s devastating. And rare enough to feel like it was meant just for you.