It happens to me often.
I see a guy for the first—and last—time, fall head over heels, and forget all about him the next day. It’s part of my personality at this point.
His eyes are dark—so dark, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like them before—paired with lashes so curly they should be illegal on a man. His hair is black and long at the top, combed over to the side, with slight growth of facial hair covering what I bet is a defined jaw, but it’s not enough to hide his deep, cheeky dimples.
His skin tanned, almost like he’s been chasing summer around the globe ever since the day he was born. He is dressed as though he’s just stepped off a GQ photo shoot before walking through those doors.
God, yep.
Definitely in love.
“Ah, so you do have a boyfriend. Sorry, man. I don’t mean to overstep,” the creepy guy says to my savior, seemingly ignoring me. He walks off as if the conversation, stalking admission, and near harassment was all just my imagination.
“What just happened?” I ask, jaw hanging open. My fingers are numb from gripping onto my ice-filled glass for dear life. “And why did he apologize to you?” I shake my head, turning to face him with my eyes widening in disbelief.
“Who knows why the men at these things do what they do,” he tells me.
“I don’t mean with him.” I nod at the creep who has now latched himself onto another woman. “I meant, why did you pretend to be my boyfriend? I had him handled.” I huff with a sigh, sipping my watered-down vodka through a straw.
“Just go with it, Snow. It’s easier that way.” He moves his arm from around my waist to over my shoulders. A shit-eating grin spread wide across his face, exposing his dimples. And I do.
I, for some reason, just…go with it. The smell of oak and rosewood overriding any logic I once had.
“Snow?” I ask, raising a confused brow in his direction, but his smirk grows wider, arrogance seeping out of every single part of him visible to the naked eye.
“Like I said, just go with it.”
We walk in silence, side by side, for a few steps, his arm still snugly around my shoulders, and I’ve somehow found myself threading our fingers near my collarbone. We stop when we reach my destination, and I turn to face him, letting his hand go. “This is me,” I say, as I throw my thumb over to my table, placing my drink down in front of the last remaining seat.
I won’t lie. Part of my stomach twinges at the realization that the love of my life isn’t seated next to me.
“Well then, I’ll see you later,” he says, planting a soft kiss on the corner of my lips, and my knees almost buckle. My stomach does a triple backflip, not even close to sticking the landing.
“Later?” I ask, wishing I had my glass still in my hands to keep them from fidgeting.
He dips his head, lips hovering next to my ear. “You didn’t think your boyfriend would let you end your night unsatisfied, did you? What kind of guy would I be if I didn’t show my girl how her evening is supposed to end?” His mouth lingers, breathing down my neck, and all I want to do is walk out that door and drag him by his tie back to my place.
Consequences be damned.
“And how is a night like this supposed to end?” I’ll admit, his confidence is really doing it for me. My lady bits are already wanting to know what he feels like buried deep inside me.
He takes a step closer, and I shuffle backward, my bare back colliding with the cold wall behind as he cages me in. “Count how many orgasms you’ve had in one night,” he whispers, teeth nipping at my earlobe. “Then triple it.” He pulls away, and my heart climbs up my rib cage and out of my throat, breaking everysingle barrier I’d ever set in place to protect it. “I know where to find you.”
“Well, fuck me,” I whisper as I watch him disappear into the crowd. His dark hair and broad shoulders blending in with most of the men here.
Stumbling forward on legs made of jelly, I reach for the drink on my table and chug it back in one gulp, desperate for the ice to cool me down. Because that man has set me on fire, and he hasn’t even touched me.
Yep, he’s definitely the love of my life for tonight.
Chapter three
Jenna
The night is goingexactly how I expected it to: a snooze fest.
Aside from my earlier interaction with Mr. GQ, nothing memorable has happened so far.
I’m sitting at a table surrounded by people who want to be industry professionals but never quite made it past the pilot of a show. All hoping to finally catch their break.
