You press yourself against the wall, the cool surface a grounding relief against the heat of the dance floor. Your head swims pleasantly, the world tilted at a soft, hazy angle. Around you, the crowd ebbs and flows, a living tide of laughter and motion.

A shape detaches itself from the mass, cutting a path directly toward your quiet corner. A man, moving with an easy confidence that parts the crowd without him even trying. His brown hair is artfully tousled, dark eyes glinting with a cocky light as they lock onto you. He’s wearing a leather jacket that looks obscenely expensive, and the smile curling on his lips is one you’ve seen a hundred times before, plastered across magazine covers and news reports.