My brain shorts out for a second because this is possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my life, and I'm suddenly very aware that my wavy brown hair is twice its normal size because of humidity and I'm wearing cut-off denim shorts and a tank top that says "ROSÉ ALL DAY" while he's in what's left of a designer shirt.
“I, uh…was going to humiliate myself via karaoke, drink two more margarita’s I can't afford, and then go back to my hotel to stress about my new job."
"Sounds terrible."
"It really does."
He's watching me with those gray eyes, and I swear there's a challenge in them. "I have a better idea."
"Does it involve getting you a new shirt? Because I'm still serious about the kidney thing if necessary."
"My hotel is three blocks away." He gestures. "I could change, and you could help me rinse the tequila smell out of this one before it sets in permanently."
Every rational thought in my head starts screaming.
Oh God. This is how horror movies start.
This is how you end up on a true crime podcast.
This…is absolutely, definitively a batshit crazy idea.
But then I look in his eyes—warm and interested and not even a little bit threatening—and I think about Josh and my old life and the fact that I've been playing it safe for six months and where the hell has that gotten me?
Alone in Miami with my two best friends while they watch me spiral about a job that doesn't even start for a month.
Maybe it's time to do something reckless.
"If you're a serial killer," I hear myself say, "I'm going to be really disappointed. You seem too well-dressed for that."
His laugh is deep and genuine. "Not a serial killer. Just a man who's very particular about his laundry and is absolute shit at avoiding flying drinks."
"To be fair, that wasmostly my fault."
"To be fair, I moved my elbow at exactly the wrong moment. We're both guilty."
Brad starts up again on stage, this time attempting something that might be "Don't Stop Believin'" if you've never actually heard the song before and someone's describing it to you incorrectly.
“Jesus.” Don winces. “Definitely our cue to leave."
He offers me his hand, and I stare at it for a moment, thinking about all the reasons this is a bad idea.
Then I think about Josh's face when I caught him, about the way my life has felt like it's been on pause for months, about how this beautiful stranger is looking at me like I still might have an ounce of attractiveness left in my hot-mess bones.
I take his hand.
"Lead the way," I say. "But I'm texting my friends your description and hotel location, just so we're clear."
"Smart." He doesn't let go of my hand as we head toward the door. "For their records…I’m six-two, a hundred and ninety pounds, wearing a ruined white shirt, and you only promised to help with laundry."
"Very thorough. Are you a lawyer?"
"Something like that."
We step out into the humid Miami night, and I glance back to see Sasha and Riley gaping at me from our table.
I mouth "text you soon" and get matching thumbs up in return, along with Sasha's extremely unsubtle gesture that I think is supposed to mean "get it, girl."
"Your friends approve?" Don asks, noticing the exchange.
