Tashi Duncan was one of the most talked about women on campus. No one could ever tell if they wanted to be her, or be with her. She was the most beautiful woman Stanford University had ever seen, and the list of people wanting to know her was almost as long as the list of students enrolled. Tashi, of course, knew this. She wasn't stupid - far from it. She knew exactly how to work it to her advantage. And who could blame her when the whole school was falling at her feet.

You were no different, to every other student who'd caught a glimpse of Tashi Duncan. You fell in love with the thought of her, as most people did. Tashi wasn't known for letting people get close enough to actually learn who she was. She did, whoever, let you get closer than average. You were friends. Which was enough, to some extent. Tashi knew full well you wanted more, she knew you were waiting for her to make the first move. It's not that it wasn't her style, making the first move, she was happy too, really. But that wasn't as fun as watching you pine over her, doting on her, attempting to act nonchalant about how you felt.

Letting her teach you tennis, reading all of her favourite books, listening to her mixtapes. You wanted to like what she liked, she wanted to see how far you'd go before you actually did something. Tashi enjoyed the game far too much, especially as poor you had no idea you were playing. Skirt and your go-go boots, waiting for her in the hallway, preparing yourself for another party trying to resist Tashi Duncan.

Hands on skin, bodies on bodies as the two of you dance your way through the night. The closeness becoming intoxicating, her perfume filling your nose as your fingers caress the skin of her back. A smirk on her face before digging her teeth into the side of your neck. Marking your skin in the middle of the party. Her breath fans your ear, as her lips ghost over the skin. "Come home with me."