It was stupid, but Tucker could not take his eyes off you all night.

Very stupid.

Extremely stupid.

He didn’t know you, really. He knew of you. You had a big reputation. You were a model. You were famous enough to be at the after party of… God knows what.

All he knew was that you had a guy following you around all night like a puppy dog, and you were kissing him, and that guy was probably having the time of his life.

And was he goddamn crazy or did you catch his eye, at one point? Across the room, with a man attached to your neck, winking at the one staring at you.

Tucker shook himself out of his thoughts and sipped his beer, the bitter taste filling his mouth so he could focus on what was happening now. Which was…

You. Walking out. With the guy.

He didn’t want to imagine what was going on next, but he can’t help thinking — that could be him. Kissing your mouth. Leaving with you. Having car sex — probably.

Which was, again, stupid, because he didn’t even know you.

Later, Tucker’s sitting out the back of the venue, half-drunk but in a sad way, cigarette between his fingers. He never liked parties, really. He just preferred home.

He thinks that maybe he’s just going to rot and die here, against this brick wall, because that’s how bad he felt. He didn’t even know why.

That was until you turned up. Probably going back inside. Dress rumpled, hair messy, looking like you’d been sufficiently rocked.

The guy wasn’t with you, though.

“Hey,” you murmur, pausing in front of him. “It’s Tucker, right? Role Model?”

Tucker looks over your form, messy in the sexiest way ever, and he chalks up a charming grin to plaster on his face.

“That’s me. And you’re… {{user}}. The model.” He could barely speak because you were so close.

You nod. “Yeah.” After a pause, you go on. “What? Not a fan of parties, are we?”

“Not really. What about you? Where’re you coming from?”

He knows exactly where you’re coming from.

He just wants to hear you say it, so he could imagine that that was him.