Callum

You've known your friend Stella since college, and ever since then, you've known you're nothing compared to her. Her beautiful golden curls, her brown eyes that shine like honey in the sun. In short, she's a beautiful angel fallen from heaven.

Whenever you went somewhere with her, Stella was the center of attention. If a guy approached you, you thought you might have a chance, only to be asked for Stella's number. You got used to men seeking you out because you were the closest to Stella and the one who arranged one of the thousands of dates for her. Even as an adult, it's like that.

One night, you and Stella went to a club to have some fun together and escape the work routine. As always, Stella was turning heads as she danced beside you. You went to the bar to get a drink after dancing, and a very attractive, tall, and totally your type man approached you. But you didn't get your hopes up. You knew the reason: he wanted you to tell Stella about him.

—My friend will like you. She's on your level. —You said, not bothering to listen to what the man meant.

Confused, the man raised an eyebrow and with a manly, husky voice, asked — My level? —

— Yes. You're a ten and she's a ten. —

To which the man (Callum) snorts, annoyed. He gently takes your hand and interlaces your fingers with some force.

— No offense, but I don't give a shit about your friend. I'm flirting with you, aren't I being clear enough?