Disclaimer: I don't own Miley, I don't own Lilly, and I don't own any other characters from the show that I decide to stick in here (but I think those are going to be the only two.) I made up the rest of the characters and the hockey teams. I've never written about fake people before…back in the good ol' days of you could write about singers and athletes, so that is what I've always done. But I actually wanted to post something, so here it is. And I'm a big Miley fan, I'm not trying to portray her in a bad light, I just like to do things a little edgier.

As he stepped into the club, he was overcome by the pulsing beat of the techno song. It took a moment for his eyes to focus in the mess of strobe and colored lighting. He took a shot of something off the tray of a passing waiter and threw his head back, letting the liquid slide down his throat. He surveyed the crowd, looking for the woman he was going to take home tonight.

"Her," Dean Parker said confidently, pointing to a beautiful, dark-haired girl who was leaning against the bar, laughing at something the bartender had said.

"Her?" his friend, Jordan Bagwell smirked. "Do you know who that is?"

Doesn't matter, Dean thought to himself. He had never had a problem getting any woman he wanted – that's how this "game" he and his friends played had started. Whenever they went clubbing, they would scan the crowd, looking for the hottest girl there; they each had to choose one in ten minutes, and try to take her home by the end of the night. There was no real prize, other than the respect of the guys in the locker room, but Dean was undefeated.

At 6'2", with his athletic, muscular build and shaggy dark hair, no woman dreamed of turning him down. He always had a five o'clock shadow, giving him a scruffy, rugged look that was irresistible. And, of course, he had the appeal of being a professional hockey player – named Sexiest Athlete by several magazines since he had come to the NHL four years ago. He was now 23-years old, and well-known for his talent with his stick on and off the ice.

"No, who is she?" he asked. They had both signed with the Los Angeles Spartans the same season and become best friends.

"That's Miley Stewart," another of his teammates, Bryan Adler, told him, patting his friend on the back. "I think she's a little too wild even for you, Dean."

"Watch and learn, boys," he smiled, making his way towards the bar.

As he got closer to her, he recognized her. It was impossible not to know who Miley Stewart was – she'd been in the spotlight since she was fifteen. The second she'd turned eighteen, she moved to LA and fit right into the celebrity scene there. She was constantly on the cover of tabloid magazines for dating one guy or another and being seen partying with socialites. She had celebrated her 21st birthday a few weeks ago and, according to the gossip mags, the party had gotten totally out of control.

He sat down on the bar stool next to her. "Let me buy you a drink."

She looked at him, her sexy blue eyes looking him up and down. "I already have a drink."

"Let me buy you another one," he insisted.

She smiled at him mischievously. "Okay."

Dean waved the bartender over. "Rum and coke, and whatever she wants."

"I'll take another one of these," she said, holding up her martini glass full of pink liquid.

Dean slid some cash across the bar and took his drink. He studied Miley closely; there was something about her that made him edgy. He couldn't place his finger on it, but he quickly tried to push it out of his mind – no woman had ever thrown him off balance before, and he wasn't about to let her be the first.

"Come on," she ordered him, taking the second martini glass from the bartender. "Follow me."

He did, staying a few paces behind her to get a good look at her. She was petite, with curves in all the right places. She wore tight, black halter top and even tighter jeans, allowing him a very nice view as he followed her up the stairs to the VIP lounge.

"Miley!" a group of people shouted, happy to see her.

She sauntered towards them, a drink in both hand and sat down on a long leather couch that wrapped around three sides of a large glass table. She patted the area next to her, instructing him to sit down. He recognized some of her friends, mostly from television shows and movies they had been in. Some of the guys seemed to recognize him, too.

Brady Galveston, a man about Dean's age who starred in a new MTV reality show, slid a book over to them. Dean looked at it, assuming he was supposed to read the title, but was instead surprised to see white lines across it. Miley picked up a small straw and snorted the powder up her nose quickly. She handed it to him.

"Oh, no thanks," he shook his head.

She eyed him playfully; a look that made Dean's jeans feel a little tighter in the crotch. She had a mystery about her, and it turned him on. "Are you scared?"

"No," he replied defensively, snapping out of his thoughts. "I can't. I get drug-tested."

"Are you on probation or something?"

He shook his head. He was surprised at the realization he had just had – she didn't know who he was. "No…I'm a hockey player…I play for the Spartans."

"What's your name?" she asked, leaning back and taking a sip from her drink.

"Dean Parker."

Miley seemed to search her mind, trying to figure out if she had heard of him before. Apparently she hadn't, because after a moment she just shrugged and took another line of the cocaine.

"You're cute," she said blatantly, touching his face gently.

Dean took a slow, deep breath, trying to control all the urges he was having at that moment. His mind flooded with images of her soft skin underneath those clothes, her long hair spread out across his pillows, her sexy voice screaming his name…

"You're pretty damn cute, too," he replied, trying to keep his voice calm.

She stood up abruptly, walking towards the door. His heart dropped; was that the wrong thing to say? he wondered.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder, smiling at him seductively. "So, what are you gonna do about it?"

His eyes lit up excitedly. He stood up quickly, following her down the stairs back to the dance floor, passed the bar, and out the doors to the busy LA street.