Special Guest

The waitress returns with your drink, and you sip at it absently, losing yourself in the atmosphere for a few minutes. The loud thump of the music makes your teeth rattle, but despite the noise you hear a sudden commotion near the entrance.

Taking another long sip, you turn to see what the sudden ruckus is about. A majority of the club patrons seem to be crowded around someone, and you struggle to get a good look through the throng of clearly excited people.

After a moment a couple of large men in suits with dark sunglasses and earpieces emerge from the crowd, clearing the way for someone behind them. Your breath catches in your throat, and you find yourself unable to swallow the mouthful of liquor.

A thin, blonde figure emerges from between the two men, a practiced smile playing across ruby red, smirking lips. The woman pauses to tun and wave at the now delirious crowd, her shoulder cocking a little as one hand goes to her hip. An incredibly short and tight black cocktail dress hugs her ass, and your eyes are immediately drawn down her exposed thighs, down her calves, and ultimately settling on her 6 inch black heels.

SCARLETT. FUCKING. JOHANSSON.

You cant fucking believe it. You stare openly. The club had certainly hosted some celebrity guests over the years, but we were talking SCARLETT. FUCKING. JOHANSSON! She was a damned mega star, a mega, MEGA star! And if she wasn't the biggest celebrity to ever grace the club, you had no idea who would claim the title over her.

You continue to stare, your gaze slowly traveling back up her body. It wasn't everyday you found yourself in the same room as one of, if not THE biggest star on the planet. The noise in the club has become deafening, and not just because of the thumping music. The crush of people being held back by the bodyguards are screaming and waving, trying to get the star's attention.

After a few more moments appreciating her legs and figure, your eyes finally work their way back to Scarlett's perfect face, only for your eyes to lock with hers across the club. Your heart thuds as her emerald eyes entrance you.

She smiles.

You suddenly become aware of the booze still in your mouth as it decides at this exact moment to slip past your tongue and down your wind pipe, causing you to cough hard and do an epic spit take all over your table.

You cough hard again, your hand flailing for the nearest napkin as you feel liquid run down the front of your dress into your cleavage. You wipe your chin, coughing hard again into the napkin, trying with all your might to regain some semblance of control.

When you look up, Scarlett is gone, no doubt whisked away by her bodyguards to the private VIP section on the upper level.

You feel like crying. Your adolescent crush, the girl you'd been thirsty for before you even knew what these feelings were, had seen you blast a mouthful of Bahama mama all over your table. You've never been this embarrassed in your life. Refusing to look up and see who else might have witnessed the embarrassing display, you furiously stuff your things into your purse, your face so hot you feel like you could fry an egg on it. Despite your best efforts, hot tears start to stream down your cheeks.

You blew booze out your nose while Scarlett Johansson was looking at you. Fucking A. You're getting out of here. You're going home, and you're never leaving again. You'll hide under the covers until the whole fucking world ends. They'll have to send in a swat team to pry you out.

You sob and stumble towards the entrance, your heels making you do a panicked little shuffle-run. You still have the booze soaked napkin pressed to your face, as much to cover the tears and swollen eyes as to soak up the sticky drink you were still wearing. The rum and fruit juice was already drying on the front of your dress, and you could feel it making the skin on your neck and chest sticky.

As you make your shuffle charge towards the exit, you hear a firm male voice come from behind you, cutting through the noise of the club.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

He can't be... oh god, please don't be talking to me. PLEASE...

"Excuse me, Ma'am? Ms. Johansson would like to buy you a drink, she said it was to replace one she had made you spill?"

You freeze mid shuffle.

"I..uh what?" you cant think of how to respond, you brain feels like its short circuiting. You can't have heard what you think you heard...

You turn to see one of the tall men that had entered with Scarlett behind you, his dark shades making his face unreadable.

"Ms. Johansson would like to buy you a drink, ma'am."