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Why, I’ve never …

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“You wouldn’t give me the time of day in there.”

“Fine. Whatever. I was looking for a particular type of guy tonight but not for the reasons you’re insinuating. It was more of a rebound thing.”

He crosses his arms in front of him. His biceps curl with the action.

I continue, “My ex is a power-suit-wearing, wealth-management asshole. He wasn’t always like that, but he morphed into one over time. I hate that about him. I hate his money and his friends and his hold over me when I realized everything I had was his. My friend wanted me to come out tonight and have some sort of angry fuck with a guy in a suit, which—if I’m being totally honest—I was never going to go through with. Maybe a hook-up or some over-the-shirt action, but I was seriously not going to go to bed with a stranger. A kiss was all I needed.”

“Looks like you got what you wished for.”

“Yes. About that. You can’t just go around kissing girls like that.”

“Like what?”

He leans in, and I’m overwhelmed. There’s a metal bar between us, yet I feel like he’s right on top of me. His presence, his energy, his heat … it sears through me. I’m like a magnet for whatever it is this guy possesses.

“What kind of kiss do you think that was?”

How do I explain my thoughts without sounding like a total lunatic?

My mouth opens to speak, but the horn sounds, alerting us to the train’s approach.

The air grows thick, and the rush of it becomes loud to our ears. I look behind him as the train appears, and I have a sense of panic. He’s going to get on, and I won’t ever see him again.

He snakes his hand into his back pocket, takes out his wallet, and swipes his card in the turnstile before walking toward the train. I push my way through and then follow him onto the train, taking a spot by the doors.

The car is decently packed but not too bad. I see him standing in the middle with his arm up, holding on. The train begins to move, and I walk toward him, careful not to wobble into anyone. I stop right in front of where he stands and grasp on to a pole in the middle of the aisle.

It’s bright in here. Brighter than the bar and the subway entrance. In here, I can see him in full view. He’s one of those impossibly handsome men, the kind you see in Abercrombie and cologne advertisements with his sun-kissed Grecian skin, masculine jaw, and straight nose.

He’s tall, about six feet, and he has the build to go with it. Clear-cut muscles, lean and strong, show with his stretch. And his eyes are this intense color that doesn’t know if it wants to be green or blue. I feel like I could stare at them forever and never know which color they are.

What kind of lunatic lets a strange man kiss her in a bar and then stalks him onto a train?

Me.

That’s who.

I’m certifiable.

“Was he worth it?” he asks.

I look up to him and wonder what he’s talking about.

“Your ex-boyfriend. Was he worth the heartache?”

“Um … no. Yes. I mean … I don’t know.”

“He probably wants you back after seeing you kiss another guy.”

“About that—”

“You wanted your ex to see you talking to someone else. I upped the ante.” He swings forward, leaning into me. “You’re welcome.”

“I don’t need to thank you. The last thing I want right now is for him to come crawling back. He’d probably love to have me back and have his girlfriend on the side. It’s something he actually proposed before I walked out.”