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I wasn't even supposed to be here.
Hollywood parties weren't really my scene—too many cameras, too many fake smiles, too much glitter masking too little substance. But my best friend dragged me out with the promise of free drinks, better music, and maybe someone hot to flirt with.
They weren't wrong.
I was nursing my drink, leaning against the bar, letting the night blur around the edges when I felt it—that feeling. You know, when someone's watching you, not just casually but deliberately. I looked up, scanning the crowd, and then I saw her.
Sabrina. Fucking Carpenter.
She was glowing—literally. Her skin caught the lights like moonlight on water, and that silver dress clung to her body like it had been sewn onto her skin. She was mid-conversation, but her eyes? They were locked on me.
My heart stuttered.
She smiled—lazy, confident, like she already knew I'd say yes to whatever she was about to ask. Then, just like that, she walked away from whoever she was talking to and came straight to me.
"You're not dancing," she said, tilting her head like she was trying to figure me out.
I raised my drink. "Observant."
"Guilty," she said with a smirk. "You're new."
"Is it that obvious?"
She stepped closer. "Not to everyone. But I've got a good eye."
There was something in her voice—smoky, flirtatious, the kind of tone that makes you forget your own name. When she asked for it, I barely got it out.
"YN."
"Sabrina," she said, though we both knew I already knew.
She didn't ask for permission. She just reached out and took my hand, fingers sliding through mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Come dance with me."
And just like that, I let her lead me into the crowd.
The music hit harder out there—low bass, hot lights, bodies moving like waves. Sabrina turned to face me, eyes locked on mine as she started to move. God, she could move. Every roll of her hips was deliberate, every sway hypnotic. She danced like a dare, like she wanted to see if I could keep up.
I did.
My hands found her waist, and she didn't flinch—she pressed in closer. Our bodies aligned, heat building between us like friction begging to be flame. Her hands were on my chest now, sliding up, slow and teasing, until they hooked behind my neck.
"You're good at this," she said, lips brushing my ear.
"You're trouble," I breathed, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips.
