Fate. Destiny. Karma… Call it what you want.
She was mine.
I knew it right then.
Angels didn’t exactly sing… but there was definitely some killer bass coming from somewhere, vibrating the pavement. For a moment, I really thought it was my heart.
It wasn’t that I was in love with her or anything. This was a purely sexual vibe, this thing between her and me.
I barely knew her.
But I wanted to know her.
I stared at her, because that’s what you do when the star of your dirtiest fantasies appears out of nowhere.
You fucking stare.
Especially if you’re drunk.
She had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. And sure, a lot of people have beautiful eyes. But hers were something else. They were this super-soft blue.
Somehow, I didn’t remember that about her… and I’d literally dreamed about this girl.
Alot.
I would’ve thought I’d memorized her face, but memory, especially when you’ve been drinking, is a sketchy fucking thing.
She was also sexier than I remembered, even covered neck-to-toe.
How was that possible?
She was holding a bouquet of roses and a light-blue bakery box, a clear umbrella hooked over one arm and a purse tucked under the other. And all I wanted to do was help her somehow.
“That one,” I said.
“What?” She blinked at me.
And something in her face went wrong. Not sure what happened to that sexy vibe, but it was gone. And fuck if I could interpret the look she was giving me.
I wastrashed.
I’d lost count of the shots we’d put back on our quest to drink Vancouver dry. Dylan and his fucking open wallet.
Mental note: never attempt to drink a large city dry on a Saturday night unless you’ve got a death wish.
A vehicle eased up to the curb behind me, and I cringed as the source of the vibrations under my feet became clear. You couldn’t really ignore a giant Hummer stretch limo, electric purple, thumping music so loud it made the Earth shake—especially when you knew it was about to cockblock you—but I tried.
Dream girl glanced over at it.
When I followed her gaze, willing the limo to keep right on driving, my ex-girlfriend—ex-lover?—popped her head out of the sunroof. Amber always had shit timing.
“Ashley!” She called over to me, wavering and almost falling as the limo parked. “Did you get the lollipops?”
I ignored her, turning back to dream girl. Her gaze lifted from the world’s most obnoxious limo to meet mine again.
Seriously. I’d probably jacked offhundredsof times thinking about this girl. So how the fuck did I forget how insanely pretty her eyes were?
“That one,” I repeated, pointing to one of the bundles of roses. “It’s the best one.”
