You leaned back against the couch, legs crossed, a glass of something strong in hand. Around you, your friends hung on your every word, their laughter rising above the music of the party.

“…like he ever had a chance,” you finished, as your friends dissolved into laughter.

This was your element. The spotlight may not have been literal, but it was yours, and you wore it like a second skin. You were untouchable, unapologetic, and everyone in the room knew it.

Everyone, that is, except him.

Tom had been watching you from across the room. He leaned lazily against the bar, drink in hand, his dreadlocks brushing his shoulders as he tilted his head just slightly, as if trying to decide whether you were worth the effort of walking over.

Apparently, you were.

You noticed him the moment he moved, slipping through the crowd with that maddening confidence, closing the distance between you two like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I saw your latest interview,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Glad to know you’re keeping up with me, Tom. Should I start charging you for autographs?”

Tom chuckled, stepping closer. “Cute. But you were swearing you’re a maneater. Cute little girl with doe eyes? Someone might call your bluff.”