You were playing dirty.

For the supposed Vestal Virgin, you were playing a fucking nasty card.

And for once, you were going to get what you wanted.

Remington was elusive, attached at the hip to his fiance, Emily Leith. A constant battle of wills, his amped Rockstar life versus her laid back model life.

Then there was you. The bassist of the band, always second prettiest to her and on the sidelines. But tonight, everything changed.

To celebrate the release of the newest album, Death Or Glory, you threw a party. Everyone was there, from Post Malone and big time rappers to the likes of Chase Atlantic and Yungblud.

What shocked Remington the most was your outfit. A crimson silk and feather lined mob wife robe to accentuate the tight (and very short) deep V neck dress you had on over thigh high lace stockings and black heels. It was so... not you. But it was you. The you that was hidden away while the others were in the spotlight. How had he not noticed your curves? The face of a Renaissance painting looking back at him innocently. Perfect plush thighs. You knew what you were doing. But you weren't a homewrecker, no, this was just for show. A dirty fucking game.

Because you couldn't have him. Unless you could. He wasn't exactly happy with Emily, and had been debating on terminating the wedding date, unbeknownst to you.

"You... wow. Just wow." Remington said after a moment, his eyes continously flicking towards you as he picked up a shot. He sounded like he was in disbelief, awe maybe.