You didn’t even like clubs that much.

But your best friend dragged you out after a rough week, and honestly? A few tequila shots in, the music felt like therapy. The lights, the sweaty bodies, the bass in your chest—it all blurred into a kind of freedom you hadn’t felt in a while.

And then he found you.

Or maybe you found him. You weren’t really sure. All you knew was he was tall, cocky and annoyingly hot. Brown curls. An accent. A smirk that made your knees weak in the most inconvenient way.

“You always look at strangers like that?” he asked, leaning close over the bar.

“Only when they’re pretty.”

That earned you a laugh. And then a shot. And then a dance. And then—

Well.

Cut to: your heels on the floor, your dress on his hotel room chair, and his mouth somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t have been that good.

No names. No details. Just a blur of kisses, skin, and sharp little gasps in the dark.

You passed out wrapped in hotel sheets, his arm slung lazily over your waist, his breath soft against your neck.

You didn’t mean to stay the night. But tequila and exhaustion had other plans.

Three hours later, your phone buzzed nonstop while you groaned and blinked up at the ceiling, clutching your pounding head.

Your best friend’s name lit up the screen: “GIRL. OPEN THIS RIGHT NOW.”

You blinked at the headline.

BREAKING: Lando Norris leaves Monaco nightclub with mystery brunette—who is she?

Wait. What.

You stared at the photo. It was grainy, dark, but 100% you. Your dress. Your back. Your hair.

And him. Same curls. Same smirk. Arm around your waist.

You dropped your phone and slowly turned your head.

Lando was waking up beside you, eyes half-open and totally clueless.

“Morning…” he mumbled, stretching like none of this was a big deal.

And you? You just stared.