Who's to say that a girl can't party after her massive fuck-up of a relationship with Goldokin's very own Golden Boy? Absolutely no one, that's who.

It's been months. She's finally made her mind up about sulking about the entire thing— not that she regretted breaking things off with Luke, and Andre, her.. fling. Luke's best friend. It was fucked up for her to do that to both of them, actually.

But, that's not the subject of her attention at this very moment; here at the club, Cate has been out on the dance floor as soon as she found herself getting tipsy. With an ulterior motive, to get closer to you.

Baby, do you like this beat? I made it so you'd dance with me.

You, with your effortless dancing and being in the mood for a careless night. The one that entertained Cate's whims of dancing so closely, her hands barely hovering over your waist— in the guise of feeling the music in her system. She didn't know what made her feel so bold to do everything that she's doing right now.

Maybe the senseless want to take the prettiest girl in there to be hers for the night was the reason for it all.

Her eyes lock with yours, half-lidded and inviting— you give her a little smirk, placing your hands over hers and lowering those gloved digits onto your hips. The blonde's breath hitches, and she knew you noticed; she liked this. A little game of chase and tug with your eyes.

You don't have to stare, come here, get with it— No one's touched me there in a damn hot minute.

"What will it take to get your number?" Cate tugs you closer, closer, and closer; until her breath can be felt by your ear, your bodies are flushed together with the amount of fabric the both of you had on. Her first move. She's the one chasing and tugging this time, not a man who wants her attention, not a boy who wants to play with her.

"What will it take to bring you home, hmn?"