You paused at the entrance, the cool night air still clinging to your bare shoulders. The slit in your dress rode up your thigh as you shifted your weight, the black stilettos making you feel taller than you'd ever been.

And then, across the crowded floor, past the slow-dancing couples and the flashing disco ball, you saw him.

Grayson. Leaning against the bleachers, a red solo cup in his hand. His black dress shirt was open at the collar, his brown mullet falling perfectly over his forehead. He was talking to his buddies, laughing at something.

Then his green eyes found you.

The laugh died in his throat. The cup stopped halfway to his lips. He just… froze.