The bass of the music is making my heart thud at the perfect rhythm, my whole body vibrating—and not just from the alcohol. The air surrounding us buzzes with that electric feel of anticipation. Louis and Zayn have snuck off for a cigarette outside, Niall's chatting up some real blonde, so it's just Liam and I at the table.

I came here tonight with a date, after about half an hour of conversations drier than the Sahara, she pressed her phone to her ear to mock a phone call, then muttered something about a family emergency and straight up left. I'm not dumb, I know there wasn't any family emergency—she just wanted to get away. Maybe it was for the best anyway.

You however, we've been playing a constant game of eye tag across the room for the past ten minutes. You're just standing there, drinking what I believe is a margarita—you look ethereal, like God specifically kissed you before bringing you into this world. I'm drawn to you like a moth drawn to a flame. No one aside from the waitstaff has dared to come near you—they target you for service because you've taken every alcoholic shot they've offered.

I decide to test the waters, inching closer to you without making it obvious. It started with third-wheeling Niall's interaction for a few minutes, then heading to the bar to order another drink. I was closer now—so close. In a few more steps I'd be able to smell your perfume—I'd assume you wear something soft, like a white musk and jasmine. Or maybe I'm completely wrong, maybe you wear a scent that's woody and animalic. But you definitely seem like a vanilla marshmallow girl.

We've gotten this far, may as well go the rest of the way. I close the remaining distance and reach for your hand, fingers curling around your soft skin. I find my voice and I say:

"I've been watching you all night. There's something in your eyes saying, 'c'mon c'mon and dance with me, baby'"

My hands naturally find your hips, pulling your body to mine so we're flush against one another. Then, I'm walking us back to the open floor among the other couples and groups dancing. The music is so loud and everyone here is dancing like no one's watching—animated and enthusiastic.

I keep my eyes on your face, even in the colourful strobe lights, I can see your alcohol flushed cheeks and slightly dilated pupils. The sclera of your eye and my white shoelaces are glowing under the black-lights, everyone in the room looking like glow sticks.

After awhile of slow swaying with my nose tucked in your hair—I grab your hand and twirl you, the flounces of your skirt frilling out at the action. Once you recover, I dip you. I'm not sure why I'm acting as if we're at a high school prom, but I'm enjoying every second of it—even if we are getting looks because our dance style is offbeat from the buoyant music.

In the short half hour we've spent together, I can already feel like chemistry between us forming—like static electricity right before a lightning strike. I can already tell we're going to get along like a house on fire.