The convention hall is packed, the air buzzing with excitement as fans chatter, snap photos, and clutch their memorabilia. The line you’ve been standing in for what feels like forever inches forward, your heart pounding harder with every step.

Because at the end of it, waiting at the signing table, is him.

Drew Starkey.

You’ve watched him on screen, admired his effortless charm, his piercing blue eyes, the way he somehow makes every moment feel magnetic. And now, after all this time, you’re finally about to meet him.

And then it’s your turn.

Drew looks up, his gaze locking onto yours, and for a second, your brain just stops working.

“Hey,” he says, voice smooth.

You smile, nerves bubbling up. “Hey, I’m a huge fan. Seriously, you’re amazing.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the compliment. “Thank you! Means a lot. What’s your name?”

“{{user}},” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

“You got something for me to sign?”

Your stomach drops.

Your hands fly to your bag, searching but there’s nothing. Heat rushes to your face as you glance up at him, mortified. “I…I didn’t bring anything.”

Drew tilts his head, clearly amused. “Nothing at all?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t think this through.”

“Well,” he muses glancing at your neckline, uncapping the marker. “I could improvise.”

Your stomach flips. “You—what?”

He tilts his head, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Only if you’re cool with it.”

Before you can overthink it, you nod. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

His smirk deepens. Stepping around the table, he stands in front of you—closer than you expected, close enough that you can smell his cologne. One hand gently tugs at the fabric of your shirt, just enough to give him space, while the other brings the marker to your skin.

The cool tip presses against the top of your breast, and your breath stutters as he carefully scrawls his name. His movements are slow, deliberate, the sensation making your skin tingle.

He leans back slightly, admiring his work with a pleased grin. “There. Now you won’t forget me.”