I shouldn’t be tempted.
I really shouldn’t be.
I’m asking for a world of trouble or hurt or legal fees. So why am I finding the idea of a one-nighter with a total stranger growing on me?
I’ve never been that girl before. But maybe they’re right? Maybe a one-nighter with a random guy is just the ticket to wipe out my past of bad choices in men and make a fresh start? I don’t even know if that makes sense since a one-nighter is the antithesis of a smart choice. But my libido is taking over for my brain and now I’m starting to rationalize, possibly even encourage. I need to stop this now.
“He’s gay. Hot men are always gay. Or assholes. Or criminals. Or cheaters. Or just generally suck at life.”
“You’ve had some bad luck, is all. Look at Oliver. He’s good-looking, sweet, loving, and not an asshole. Or a criminal. And he likes you. You could date him.”
Reaching over, I steal Rina’s cocktail. She doesn’t stop me or even seem to register the action. I stare at her with narrowed eyes over the rim of her glass as I slurp down about half of it in one gulp. “I’m not dating your brother, Rina. Any of your brothers for that matter. That’s weird and begging for drama. You and I are best friends.”
She sighs and then I sigh because I’m being a bitch and I don’t mean to be. I like her brother. I like all of her brothers, but Oliver and I are tight. He is all of those things she just mentioned, minus the liking me part. But if things went bad between us, which they inherently would, it would cost me one of my most important friendships. And that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.
Plus, unbeknownst—or maybe just ignored—by Rina, Oliver is one of the biggest players in the greater Boston area.
“I’m just saying not all men are bad,” Rina continues, and I shake my head, unwilling to budge on this. “We’ll buy your drinks for a month if you go talk to this guy,” she offers hastily, trying to close the deal.
Margot glances over at her with furrowed eyebrows, a bit surprised by that declaration, but she quickly comes around with an indifferent shrug.
Aria smiles, liking that idea. Then again, money is not Aria’s problem. “Most definitely,” she agrees. “Go. Let a stranger touch your lady parts. You’re waxed and shaved and looking hot. Let someone take advantage of that. And by take advantage I mean I mean take advantage. You need sex, Halle. It’s been a hundred years since your orgasms weren’t self-produced.”
“And if he shoots me down?”
“You don’t have to sleep with him,” Rina reminds me, cutting a glare at Aria who clearly doesn’t agree. “Or even give him your real name. In fact, tell him nothing real about yourself. It could be like a sexual experiment.”
I shake my head in exasperation.
“We won’t bother you about it again,” she promises solemnly. “But he won’t shoot you down. You look movie star hot tonight.”
While I appreciate the sentiment from my loving and supportive friends, being shot down by a total stranger when I’m already feeling emotionally strung out might just do me in. Even if I have no interest in him. But free drinks . . .
Twisting around in my chair, I stare across the crowded bar, probing for a few seconds until I spot the man in the corner. Holy Christmas in Florida, he is hot. There is no mistaking that. His hair is light blond, short along the sides and just a bit longer on top. Just long enough that you could grab it and hold on tight while he kisses you.
His profile speaks to his straight nose and strong, chiseled, cleanly shaven jaw. I must admit, I do enjoy a bit of stubble on my men, but he makes the lack of beard look so enticing that I don’t miss the roughness. He’s wearing a suit. A dark suit. More than likely expensive judging by the way it contours to his broad shoulders and the flash of gold on his wrist that I catch in the form of cufflinks.
But the thing that’s giving me pause is his anguish. It’s radiating off him. His beautiful face is downcast, staring sightlessly into his full glass of something amber. Maybe scotch. Maybe bourbon. It doesn’t matter. That expression has purpose. Those eyes have meaning behind them and I doubt he’s seeking any sort of company.
In fact, I’m positive he’d have no trouble finding any if he were so inclined.
That thought alone makes me stand up without further comment. He’s the perfect man to get my friends off my back with. He’s going to shoot me down in an instant and I won’t even take it personally. Well, not too much.
I can feel the girls exchanging gleeful smiles, but I figure I’ll be back with them in under five minutes, so their misguided enthusiasm is inconsequential. I watch him the entire way across the bar. He doesn’t sip at his drink. He just stares blankly into it. That sort of heartbreak makes my stomach churn. This miserable stranger isn’t just your typical Saturday night bar dweller looking for a quick hookup.
He’s drowning his sorrows.
Miserable Stranger doesn’t notice my approach. He doesn’t even notice me as I wedge myself in between him and the person seated beside him. And he definitely doesn’t notice me as I order myself a dirty martini.
I’m close enough to smell him. And damn, it’s so freaking good I catch myself wanting to close my eyes and breathe in deeper. Sandalwood? Citrus? Freaking godly man? Who knows.
I have no idea what to say to him. In fact, I’m half-tempted to grab my drink and scurry off, but I catch Rina, Margot, and Aria watching vigilantly from across the bar with excited, encouraging smiles. There’s no way I can get out of this without at least saying hello. Especially if I want them to buy me drinks for the next month.
But damn, I’m so stupidly nervous. “Hello,” I start, but my voice is weak and shaky, and I have to clear it to get rid of the nervous lilt. Shit. My hands are trembling. Pathetic.
He doesn’t look up. Awesome start.
I play it off, staring around the dimly lit bar and taking in all the people enjoying their Saturday night cocktails. It’s busy here. Filled with the heat of the city in the summer and lust-infused air. I open my mouth to speak again, when the person seated next to my Miserable Stranger and directly behind me, gets up, shoving their chair inadvertently into my back and launching me forward.
Straight into him.
I fly without restraint, practically knocking him over. Not enough to fully push him off his chair—he’s too big and strong for that—but it’s enough to catch his attention. I see him blink like he’s coming back from some distant place. His head tilts up to mine as I right myself, just as my attention is diverted by the man who hit me with his chair.
“I’m so sorry,” the man says with a note of panic in his voice, reaching out and grasping my upper arm as if to steady me. “I didn’t see you there. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I’m beet red, I know it.
“Did I hurt you?”
Just my pride. “No. Really. I’m good. It was my fault for wedging myself in like this.” The stranger who bumped me smiles warmly, before turning back to his girlfriend and leaving the scene of the crime as quickly as possible.
Adjusting my dress and schooling my features, I turn back to my Miserable Stranger, clearing my throat once more as my eyes meet his. “I’m sorry I banged into you . . .” My freaking breath catches in my lungs, making my voice trail off at the end.