grayson hawthorne did not "do" parties.

he did not go to random ten story historical buildings at a secret location in paris where only wealthy socialites went to get blackout drunk. he didn't let loose or take chill pills.

that was until he met you.

it was a small interaction, a random quick chat at a gala, but you had lingered on grayson's mind for weeks. he told his younger brother, jameson, who had agreed to help him get on your radar (only after countless hours of teasing).

and because the two middle hawthornes just so happened to be in paris at the same time of a party your close friend was djing for, they decided to check it out.

for the first hour, grayson stiffly stood by the wall, jaw stitched tight together as bodies brushed up against him. he was in jeans and a white tshirt, two articles of clothing he had to borrow from jameson because he didn't even bother to pack them. he worried that it was noticeable he wasn't in his usual suit and dress shirt.

one would think a twenty-something son of the ninth richest person in the world had been to plenty of parties. but not grayson, who was scared as hell to let his guard down even when jameson coerced him into taking a shot because it would be liquid courage to approach you.

fine. one shot.

hours later, one shot turned to four, six, and now grayson was nursing an alcoholic drink in his hand as he rocked side to side in the wave of bodies. somehow, grayson had flirted with more girls in the past twenty minutes than he had in his life. he just pictured what jameson, the more charismatic, upbeat, funny brother would do, and went with it.

jesus, was grayson hawthorne a wild drunk.

a laid back smirk was plastered on his face, blonde hair that was normally slicked back shooting up in all directions, and his shirt slicked onto his back with sweat. he pushed past a group of skimpy dressed girls, on his way to the bar for another beverage, when he almost toppled over another person.

his eyes flicked down and landed on you, his smirk widened as he channeled his inner jameson.

"i know you," he said, his voice carrying over the music as his eyes brushed down your figure.