Tijuana, Mexico: 9:34 p.m. on a Saturday

He was exactly the kind of guy my mother warned me about.

And I kissed him anyway.

Well, more than kiss.

Let’s back up though. Let me tell this story from the beginning.

Honestly, I didn’t even want to go out that night, but Amanda insisted we do something fun. Personally, I’d always thought birthdays were overrated.

But now we were two good girls in Tijuana looking for trouble.

At least I’d always considered myself a good girl. But there was something in the air that made me feel like I might be just a teensy bit bad. Maybe it was turning twenty-seven. Or maybe it was because I’d just gotten out of a lengthy failed relationship.

Little did I know just how bad I could get.

The music pulsed inside the club through the hot Mexico air as we waited in line.

“This is one of those nights where if something seems like a great decision at the time, we should just go for it. Live a little,” my friend Amanda said as she tossed her hair. “Because as we all know, what happens in Tijuana stays in Tijuana.”

“Doesn’t the DEA have undercover agents everywhere?” I countered. “What if they see me dancing like a fool?”

“Oh is it against the law to have a good night of dancing? Please. Don’t be ridiculous.”

For the last three years, I’d barely sparsely attended a party. I was too busy working days at the DEA and laboring nights finishing my Ph.D. in criminal justice. I was paranoid by nature, and the fact that one of my coworkers just had a viral drinking meme made about her made me extra weary about truly letting loose tonight.

Amanda gave me an ‘are you seriously still talking about work’ shrug and flashed me a mischievous grin as she handed her passport to the bouncer. I was a little shocked that this shady Tijuana club was even checking IDs, but I passed mine over as well.

Inside, sweaty bodies pulsed around us, men and women dancing to the beat of the reggaeton. The seedy club was the type of place Amanda and I expected to get a drink spilled on us. Which is why we’d planned ahead and bought inexpensive—but still hot—outfits for the occasion. Mine was a red, tight fitted bodycon number I found rummaging in a sale bin. The stunner was Amanda’s black, scoop neck, high-waisted skirt and crop top that complimented her curvy figure.

We were looking for a good time, not a high-end club serving twenty-dollar cocktails, so this place was perfect. I settled against the sticky bar to scope out the terrain. Over the screaming speakers bleeding Latino salsa, somehow the problems I was having with relationships and my job back in San Diego faded away, if only momentarily.

“You know Eva, I’m glad you two broke up. Really, I am,” Amanda smiled, tossing her blond locks in an attempt to get the bartender’s attention. “He wasn’t that great anyway. I always thought he was a little shady.”

I turned to look at her, but my dress didn’t turn with me—it was stuck to the bar. Gross.

“Shady is an understatement,” I emphasized. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t tell Amanda the whole truth about why I’d broken up with my boyfriend. It was something I was still dealing with. And if I couldn’t handle the truth myself, why would I expect she’d be able to?

In college at San Diego State, Amanda and I both majored in Psychology. She knew my dating habits better than I did. I’d always heeded my foster mom’s advice, and she’d told me to stay away from the bad guys, the unreliable guys. The guys who were apt to leave you high and dry.

Guys like my birth father, a man I’d never met.

I glanced across the bar, trying to figure out why we were still without drinks, when I glimpsed an extremely attractive man, tall and tattooed.

A chill went through my body from head to toe, and I wasn’t sure if it was the good or the bad kind.

The man looked like he might be the type of criminal I might have chased down at my day job.

Except behind the tattoos and slightly evil smirk, there was a clear handsomeness about this one.

My stare lingered on him as he spoke with the bartender, a cocky grin spread across his face the entire time. His broad shoulders and thick biceps were covered with a white V-neck. The tight shirt accentuated each muscle, while tattoos poked out of the neckline and covered his arms. His irises were an icey blue hue, and when he ran a hand over his short brown hair I had to bite my lip. More than a few days of stubble covered his face.

His gaze shifted, our eyes locked, and he didn’t look away. I didn’t either, frozen by the man’s gorgeous face.

He seemed like a guy who could probably get any girl he wanted, and would leave her high and dry given the chance. Still, a current of electricity ignited inside me.

Finally I averted my gaze, his cocky grin seared into my brain. A faint dizzy flutter rolled through my chest, spread to my fingertips, and reached my toes. It was like morphine spreading through my limbs.

I stole one more glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Two gorgeous girls were clawing at each other to position themselves closer to him, but he just appeared bored.

Used to their attention.

He nodded at the bartender and eyeballed a bottle of mezcal behind the bar. Almost instantly he had four shots of the liquid in front of him. After he took his drink, he put his shot glass down, looked right at me again, and leered with a smirk like he was thinking of some funny joke I hadn’t figured out yet.

“Hey, buddy!” Amanda yelled to the bartender, before turning to me. Still, he ignored Amanda. “Geez! The bartender must be talking to his best friend or something. It’s like we’re ghosts. Do I not have the twins out tonight? I’m starting to feel insecure.”

I looked down at Amanda’s top. Usually we got quick service. “The twins are definitely ready to play tonight. Maybe the bartender is gay?” I joked.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. And I turned away from the bar in an effort not to stare at Mr. Sexy Eyes. In the process, I accidently made eye contact with an out of shape, fortyish man with thinning black hair and a mustache, who smiled back at me. I cringed, immediately spinning back around and tapping Amanda on the shoulder.

“Creepy guy coming, five o’clock. We need to change locations, stat,” I warned.

We spun around to look for another opening at the bar, but it was too late. Mr. Mustache moved quickly so he was right next to us, boxing us in. Up close, he was even less attractive then he had been when he was ten feet away.

“Well hello, amor,” he said over the music. “How about I buy you a drink?”

Amor, really?

“I’m not anyone’s amor,” I said simply, hoping he’d take the hint.

I glanced over at the tall man with the tattoos again. He was ordering more shots.

Damn, the man could drink.

Lifting his chin, he winked at me as he took them from the bartender. Well at least if we weren’t getting service, someone was.

The mustached man didn’t budge, not taking the hint that we wanted him gone. Instead of leaving us alone, he moved closer.

“Oh well if you don’t have an amor, I can be your amor tonight. Do you want to split a beer?” he offered, opening his wallet.

“Split a beer? Is that a thing?” Amanda shot back.

“My funds are low tonight,” the man continued patting his wallet. “So we have to split just one. Don’t you like beer?”

“No, we’re fine,” I responded tersely. I looked back to where the sexy beast with the tattoos had been standing, but he was gone.

My heart sank just a little bit. I wondered if he’d left.

“You don’t have drinks yet, though,” he pointed out, refusing to throw in the towel.

I shot Amanda a look. Apparently the twins were working, they just weren’t attracting the right guy tonight.

“Uh, my boyfriend is here,” I blurted out, trying not to sound too much like a liar.

“Yeah,” Amanda said. “Both of our boyfriends are here.”

The ugly man didn’t budge. “No they aren’t. You’re lying. Mentiras. You said you don’t have an amor. Please, just drink a beer with me. Come on, just one.”

I eyed Amanda and tried to move away from the bar. Talking to creepy old men was exactly the opposite of how we wanted to spend my birthday.

Before I heard him, I swear I could sense him.

“Hey honey,” a man’s low voice crooned from behind me.

I whipped around to see the tattooed hottie right behind us holding three shots in one big hand, a relaxed grin plastered across his face. In a natural manner, he extended his free hand toward my shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, as if we were indeed boyfriend-girlfriend, and we’d done this a million times. A tingle ran down my spine when he touched me.

“I finally got those shots. Sorry it took so long, baby,” he said in a deep and scratchy voice. He handed Amanda and I each a shot with a big smile on his face.

“Thank you, baby,” I smiled, very willing to play his game for a moment in order to stave off Mr. Mustache’s advances.

Although to be honest, I would play fake boyfriend and girlfriend with this man even if there wasn’t a creepy old man hitting on me.

We clinked glasses and each threw back our shots. Still, the annoying man didn’t leave.

“You two aren’t together,” the mustached man said. “I saw you girls walk in alone. And you—you’ve been with them all night.” He pointed to the two girls who were standing a few feet away, eyeballing Amanda and me.

“Honey, let’s make sure this man knows who you belong to,” he growled, grinning.

Before I had a chance to react, Mr. Tattoos gripped the back of my head and crushed his lips to mine, making out with me.

He smelled like tequila and man and...fucking sexy.

I wrapped my arms around him as my heart beat like crazy. This wasn’t a middle school first kiss. The man knew what he was doing.

“Ahem,” I heard Amanda say.

When I opened my eyes and came back to earth, I saw the mustached man was gone.

The man’s huge hand held onto my side.

I was getting so turned on already, after under a minute of touching him and barely even a word exchanged between us, and he’d turned me on even more than my last boyfriend had in two years of dating.

And I didn’t even know his name.

Whoops, did I just admit that?

This kind of strong reaction was not normal for me.

My conscience kicked in and I realized as hot as this man was, he was one-hundred and ten percent trouble.

When my mom told me to stay away from men, I’m pretty sure this guy’s picture was the one she used as a reference.

“Listen,” I said, putting my hand on the man’s shoulder. He was noticeably taller than me, and even in heels I had to angle my head up to address him. “Thanks for saving me from that creepy guy, but I don’t go around kissing random guys whose names I don’t even know. It’s just not my thing.”

“I’m Corbin,” he stuck out a hand to shake mine. “Now you know me. Problem solved.”

He was even more gorgeous up close. His lips curled up in a smirk that simultaneously scared and attracted me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my fingertips burned as I touched his skin.

“Well, Corbin, I’ve dated guys like you. You’re not my type, trust me.”

“So you don’t like guys who are hot, tall, and tattooed?” he quipped back. “Maybe I’ll just have to show you what these big hands can do.”

Without taking his eyes off me, he pressed his hands up against mine to do a quick comparison.

They were huge.

I tried to say something to him, but nothing came out.

“Beers! Who wants a Corona?” Amanda thankfully interrupted, handing each of us a cold bottle with a lime.

“You finally got through to the bartender,” I said.

“Yeah. And the bartender told me these are on the house. He wouldn’t accept payment for them. Said my money is no good when we’re hanging out with…you.” Amanda tipped her forehead in Corbin’s direction. “Are you like the Godfather or something?”

Corbin shrugged. “I have friends in low places. Or high ones, depending how you look at it.”

“What does that mean?” Amanda asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Corbin said. “Just enjoy the ride. Cheers.”

We clinked beers and all took a sip. My body tingled all over as I took the drink. And I wasn’t sure if it was from my buzz, or from Corbin.

“So you know my name. But what are your names?” Corbin asked. “You never told me.”

“My name is…” I paused and cleared my throat. I thought about what Amanda had said earlier. What happens in Tijuana stays in Tijuana.

Back home, I was the most responsible one of all of my friends. I’d studied harder, rarely partied, and worked my way through school and work the old fashioned way. Maybe it was the slight buzz from the tequila. Or maybe it was the existential crisis I was having on my twenty-seventh birthday.

But I decided I would not give this man my real name tonight.

“You okay?” Corbin asked, furrowing his brow while I thought in silence. I feigned like my beer had gone down the wrong pipe to buy some time.

I wasn’t a liar. Screw it. Tonight--I wouldn’t play the good girl.

I would be whoever I wanted to be.

“My name’s Alexa,” I lied.

As soon as the name came out, I shot Amanda that subtle look only best friends of years can give each other.

She didn’t miss a beat.

“And I’m Bambi,” she smiled broadly, and I swear her voice even took on this new, “bambi-like” quality.

I stifled a laugh, twirling my hair.

“Well, nice to meet you two. Listen, you’ve got to be careful in a place like this. You never know who you might meet.” He paused, glancing across the bar. “Shit, my buddy is calling me from over on the other side of the bar. We’re kind of having a...party.”

“What are you celebrating?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” he winked, and started in the direction of his friend.

Corbin might as well have had a warning sign on him that read: Do not touch: Magnetic. I reached my hand out and wrapped it around his forearm.

For some reason, the lie that I was “Alexa” made me feel powerful. Like instead of being this man’s prey, I could transform into a predator.

She Wolf by Shakira came on. An omen.

“Are you sure you don’t want to hang around for one more drink?” I said, the words coming out a little throaty. My heart picked up its pace. Amanda shot me a subtle glance that gave me the impression she was wondering the same thing I was.

Where was this bold, flirty side of me coming from?

Corbin hesitated. “I would love to.”