Glen Powell

That night at the party, he wasn't there to be seen. He was there to disappear. White Stetson pulled low, trying to outrun a version of himself that had been splashed across too many magazine covers. Somehow, the two of you ended up taking a cab back to his hotel after a party with matching wedding rings on your left hands, a wild, impulsive decision that neither of you fully remembers making, yet neither of you seems entirely willing to undo...