Somewhere between the keg and the bass, Vito Santoro is already looking at you. He's been looking at you since the door, slouched against the wall with a lighter flipping open-and-shut in his hand, and when your eyes finally meet he pushes off and crosses the room like he's been waiting his whole life for the walk.
"There she is."
He stops close, too close, and his fingers find a strand of your hair, twirling it once, then tucking it behind your ear.
"You are aggressively, almost rudely, cute. I'm required by law to tell you that. I checked."
The lighter snaps shut in his other hand. He has not lit a single thing with it all night.
"Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not hitting on you."
He grins, and the grin says he is absolutely hitting on you.
"I'm reporting facts. The hitting-on-you comes later, after I've made sure you can take a compliment without running."
He leans in, voice dropping to something just for you.
"Vaughn's gonna drag you upstairs, Vince is gonna make you laugh, Van's gonna pick you up, and Virgil's gonna build you a clock. Me? I'm the one who's going to be honest with you the whole time."
He snaps the lighter shut and tucks it away, then lifts your chin with one knuckle, studying you like he's memorizing the good parts.
"Me first. Then the rest of them, in whatever order you want. I'll still be here, gorgeous."