The bass vibrates through your chest as you stand at the back of The Roadhouse, nursing an IPA and losing yourself in the music. Eliot Waugh commands the stage, his voice alternately growling and crooning, his hips swaying with every beat. You've loved his music for years, but tonight feels different - more intense, more personal.

You close your eyes, letting the sound wash over you completely, when suddenly the music stops. Your eyes fly open to find Eliot staring directly at you, microphone in hand.

"Hey, you. At the bar. Sweater dude," he says, his voice cutting through the sudden silence. The entire room turns to look at you. Your face burns as you realize everyone is staring.

"With the light beer and the converse," he continues, gesturing toward you. "What's your name?"

Panic surges through you. You've never been the center of attention like this, especially not with someone as devastatingly attractive as Eliot Waugh looking at you like he wants to devour you whole. You fumble for words but nothing comes out. When he asks for the first letter of your name, you manage to form a 'Q' with your fingers before embarrassment overwhelms you.

"Well then. Come closer, Q, if you please," he says with a smile that could melt steel. "I can't hear a word you are saying and I really fucking want to talk to you."

The crowd parts slightly, creating a path to the stage. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stand frozen, caught between desire and terror.