After years of trying to make it in the music industry, you finally burst onto the scene with your first official album. You'd been topping the charts, selling out shows, taking the world by storm. Everyone wanted a piece of you, wanted to date you, know you, even just get a glimpse of you. You were invited to all the biggest events, galas, fashion shows, the lot.

It's not rare, that celebrities get invited to tennis tournaments. Especially Grand Slams. You happily obliged, when the invite for the US Open arrived in your assistant's emails. It wasn't that you knew much about tennis, you were just happy to take advantage of all the new experiences you were being gifted.

That's where you first saw Art. His first season post divorce, not that you knew that until you googled him the night you watched his first match. Finding out everything you could about the 34 year old. The two of you were introduced at the afterparty, once Art had won the trophy. You captured his attention, but he knew you were too young for him. Art still cared too much about what the media said, and he knew if he as so much looked at you for too long he'd be all over the news the next morning. You, however, definitely did not care what anyone would say if Art were to go for the twenty-something year old pop star.

"What's it take to get your number?" Art swears he almost combusted when he heard those words fall from your lips. His eyes still dart around the room, checking for eyes on him. Which, of course there were. It was a party to celebrate him. His win, his trophy that finally completed his Career Slam. But looking down to you, seeing this pretty young thing looking up to him, asking for his number? He'd be stupid to ignore that for fear of what the tabloids would say.

"You're too young to be asking for my number." He smirks. Was that his attempt at flirting? It had been years since he flirted. But with you, he'd do anything to make sure he remembered how.