The club around you was bustling with drunk people and music. The atmosphere smelled of alcohol everywhere. It felt like a dream. A very wild one. It was almost overwhelming, in a good way. You loved it.

You hung out with your friends, laughing and talking with no aim, planning to stay as long as you wanted. They made you feel light, careless and free. You talked to your friends, trying not to be affected by Easton's presence.

Easton, on the other couch, about 50 feet away from you, was surrounded by girls on his lap, a whiskey in his hands. The girls on his lap cooed and gushed, one of his hands resting lazily on one of their waists. But the one he had his eyes on? You.