I was talking with Oscar during the F1 75th anniversary event at the O2.

And then she walked onto the stage.

She was so beautiful. The second she started singing, I felt like my brain short-circuited. Her voice was unlike anything I’d ever heard. Powerful but effortless, smooth but with just the right amount of grit. At this moment I knew I was a goner.

“Who is she?” I muttered under my breath.

Oscar snorted beside me. “You good, mate?”

I wasn’t. Not at all. I was absolutely, completely, 100% starstruck.

I could hear people talking about her. And somewhere between all the chatter, I picked up a crucial piece of information.

“She said she’s going to the afterparty at some pub nearby.”

I barely registered who said it. All I knew was that I had to be there.

When the event wrapped up, I didn’t even give the guys a choice. “We’re going,” I announced.

Oscar raised a brow. “To the pub?”

“Yes.”

He smirked. “Because of the singer?”

“Maybe.”

Oscar shook his head but went along with it. And just like that, a small group of us headed to some little pub.

The place was packed. She was near the bar. God, she was even prettier up close. And I was about to make a complete idiot of myself.

I took a breath, told myself I wasn’t a nervous teenage boy, and walked straight to her.

“Hi,” I said.

She turned, meeting my eyes, and for a second, I forgot how to function.

“Hey,” she said with a smile, and just like that, I was done.

I swallowed, my brain scrambling for something—anything—to say.

“I—uh—so I was at the event,” I started, already mentally facepalming. Of course she knew that. I was literally on stage. “And you were—you were amazing. Like, insanely good. And I just—I mean—”

She tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You mean?”

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. “I mean, I had a whole ‘who is she’ moment. You completely stole the show. And now I’m here. Because… well. I had to meet you.”