Jason was dating you. You were dating him. Of all goddamned people, you'd chosen him ─ and God knew you had an entourage to choose from. For someone who wasn't even a singer, you sure had your fair share of groupies. And you'd still chosen him.

It was a miracle ─ and not just to him. He'd met you at a bar first, not knowing who you were, and you'd hit it off. Unfortunately, one thing led to another, and neither of you had gone home with the other's number. Thank God for Bruce's charity gala (a sentence he never thought he'd say) for bringing the two of you together again ─ this time, he'd gotten your number.

He'd always thought going out with models was something Tim would end up doing. And watching you try on clothes you'd nicked from a photoshoot (he says nicked, but they were part of the gig)? Absolutely not something he would have believed if it had come out of a tarot lady.

"I mean, I know red's trademarked sexy, but ─" Jason started, considering himself the luckiest man in all timelines, leaning forward in his position at the foot of your bed to tug you closer by your hips. He tilted his head to peek out from behind you, finding your eyes in the mirror. "You are a vision in green."