My first assignment as a traveling nurse brought me to Charlotte, North Carolina, a place I’d never been before. I’ve been so consumed by learning the intricacies of the hospital I haven’t had much time to explore the city. Which sucks, because I’m used to spending my free time outdoors. Ocean, beach, mountains—California has it all.

When Mindy, one of the CNAs I work with at Charlotte Children’s Hospital, asked me if I wanted to go to the world’s largest pub crawl, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. But she also mentioned that we would be meeting up with some of her friends, and since I’d only been in North Carolina for a week, meeting people was on the top of my list of things to do.

“Hey, Bree!” Mindy greets me when I open the door for her.

“Hey!”

She thrusts a kelly-green T-shirt at me as she slides by.

“This is interesting,” I say as I hold it up for inspection.

She’s wearing an identical shirt, though she’s made some interesting modifications to hers. The crew neck has been cut into a low, jagged vee and the sides are laced together with shoestring, allowing skin to show from under her armpits to the top of her low-slung jeans. I don’t even want to think about the time and effort she put into making it that slutty.

Evidently, everyone at the event wears the same T-shirt. Though the artwork—a pair of Chuck Taylor–style high-tops hanging on a power line by the laces, with the details for the pub crawl on the sole—is cool, the shirt itself is tiny. If I had known how small they ran, I would have opted for a medium. How am I supposed to drink if I have to worry about sucking in my gut all day? I can’t complain, though, because I really do appreciate Mindy inviting me out with her friends.

"Yeah, the design is kinda cute this year," Mindy agrees. “And, I mean, even if you hate it, you only have to wear it once, right?”

“True.” I head toward my bedroom. "I’m gonna throw this on. Be right back.”

“No worries,” she says. “Can I grab a beer?”

I stop and turn around, watching as she opens my fridge and peers in. “I thought we were going to a pub crawl?” I ask.

Pregaming for a day of drinking that starts at noon seems pretty aggressive. Maybe I should’ve thought twice before agreeing to hang out with Mindy and her friends. I didn’t know anything about her outside of work. She may be way more wild than I have patience for anymore. I grew up around a ton of spoiled trust-fund kids who’d been drinking and doing drugs since middle school. The lifestyle got old quickly for me.

“It’s cheaper here,” she answers.

And just like that, I feel like a judgey jackass. An entire day of drinking is bound to be expensive. Might as well get started here and save a few bucks.

“In the fridge,” I say as I leave her in the kitchen, then add, “Grab me one, too, please.”

I rush into my bedroom and replace my previous green T-shirt with the official pub-crawl top. Before I leave, I stop to fluff my hair and glance in the full-length mirror hanging behind my door. It takes a few double palm-pushes against the inside of the shirt near the middle, but I finally stretch it enough to give me a little extra room in the tummy area. I slide my palms over the wrinkles and I'm ready to go.

When I come back into my living room, Mindy is at the sliding glass door checking out the amazing view from my balcony. From there, you can see into BB&T Ballpark, where the Knights, Charlotte’s minor league baseball team, play their home games.

“You’ve got a view of the entire field,” she says, craning her neck to the left.

“I know. It would be awesome if I liked baseball.”

“You don’t need to like baseball to think the players are hot,” she says, handing me a beer. She swallows hard after taking a sip, which tells me she may not be a fan of the particular craft brew I picked up from the grocery store a few blocks from my house.

I laugh. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Do you like any sports?”

“I like hockey. And sometimes soccer. Who doesn’t love David Beckham?”

I’m not the world’s biggest soccer fan. I can’t tell you the names of many guys or what clubs they play for. But David Beckham and Cristiano Ronaldo are definitely on my radar. And all over my Instagram feed.

“You like hockey?” Mindy asks, leaning her backside against the balcony. “Have you been to an Aviators game?”

“I haven’t had a chance to get there yet. Do you go to them?” It’s midway through March, which means hockey season is drawing to a close. Since I don’t follow the local team, I don’t know if they’re in the playoffs or not. Maybe I should catch a game before the regular season ends.

“I’ve been to a few. A girl I work with at the radio station is dating one of the players, so I’ve gone with her a few times. That’s who we’re meeting up with at the crawl today.”

My heart speeds up. While I won’t go as far as to say hockey players are my weakness, I will admit to being extremely attracted to them. In fact, with the exception of one person, I've only ever dated guys who play hockey. It’s not like I seek them out. It’s just who I’ve always been around.

As a former collegiate hockey player himself, most of my dad’s friends are now retired players. And Mason, my brother, who’s only two years younger than I am, played up until a few years ago. I’ve literally been around hockey players from the time I was born. Being around so many good-looking, athletic guys made my dating life pretty easy—despite how pissed Mason would get every time I went out with one of his friends or teammates.

“Ready?” I ask. Before we leave, I grab my new Kate Spade purse from the kitchen table and maneuver the strap over my head and across my chest so the bag sits at my hip.

Once we’re on the street outside my apartment complex, I dig for more information on today’s festivities. “Tell me more about this crawl.”

“It’s a day of eating, drinking, and walking around the city with twenty thousand of your best friends.”

“Twenty thousand?” I repeat, unsure if Mindy’s exaggerating or not. That’s a shit-ton of people.

“Yes. Well, that’s the organizers’ count. But they go by number of T-shirts sold, so who knows if that many people are actually out on the street.”

“Is it run by a promotion company or radio station or something?” I look both ways before crossing the street to walk through Romare Bearden park. If cutting through the park is an option, I always do it. I love a patch of nature in the middle of city.

Out of the options offered by the temporary agency, I chose an apartment in Charlotte’s city center. For all I knew about Charlotte, it could have been a few buildings surrounded by horse and cow farms, so I thought being right in the heart of the city, within walking distance to restaurants and grocery shopping, would be my best bet. CCH is only a five-minute drive, which is much better than the hour-long commute to get from my parents’ house in Carona del Mar to the children’s hospital I worked at just outside of Anaheim. Based on mileage, it should only take about twenty minutes to get from house to hospital, but traffic is absolutely brutal.

“No,” Mindy says. “It’s just two random dudes who moved to Charlotte after college. I talked to one of the guys last year for a while. It started with eighty of their friends and it’s grown from there.”

“Holy shit.”

“Right?”

“It’d be interesting to figure out how it runs, don’t you think? Get to see what goes on behind the scenes. With those numbers, it must be crazy.”

Though I chose a career in human services, I’ve always had an appreciation for people who built their businesses from the ground up, since that’s how my parents created their wealth. Growing up around the hard work and excessive hours they put into their businesses instilled a work ethic in me that I didn’t see in my peers.

Not all of them, of course, but I went to school with a ton of kids who were living off the fortune their great-grandparents made. I’m not knocking it, but while many of those kids were getting kicked out of school and being sent to rehab or schools for emotionally troubled youth, I was watching my parents create their empire, which made me appreciate hard work at an early age.

When I chose nursing as a profession, I didn’t want to be “just a nurse.” I wanted to be a pediatric oncology nurse—the best pediatric oncology nurse in the country. Not that there’s a solid measurement for that. It was more about working my ass off to get to the top—instead of living off Mom and Dad.

“Maybe we can get on the employee list for next year,” Mindy winks.

Reality mutes my initial pang of excitement. My assignment in Charlotte ends long before next year’s pub crawl. I may be enjoying a St. Patty’s Day celebration in a whole new city—or back home in California. But I don’t say that out loud, choosing to stay in the present, even though I secretly enjoy the idea of not knowing where I’ll be next. It gives me a sense of freedom I haven’t felt in years.

Being the daughter of driven entrepreneurs has its perks, but it also comes with the pressure and expectations of people who “want the best for me” even if our definitions of what’s best are completely different. Marrying one of the party-boy, trust-fund kids in my parents’ social circle is not my idea of an ideal match. I’d seen more things snorted before I started high school than I’d seen my entire time in college.

That was never my life. I always wanted to be outside hiking and surfing, rather than on the beach drinking and sunbathing.

“At the risk of sounding super lame, I don’t know if I’ll be able to hang very long if I’m drinking all day,” I say, jumping onto the bricks of a raised flower bed. Years of gymnastics as a kid kicks in and I begin stepping heel to toe across the bricks as if I’m walking a beam.

“There’s a strategy, my dear,” Mindy says, letting go of my hand, so I can focus on my balance. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint. You have a drink, maybe a few waters in between, walk around until you’re hungry, then duck into a place to grab some food.”

“I’m glad I have an experienced guide for my first world’s largest pub crawl.”

“It takes practice. Last year I got so sloppy drunk I was peeing in an alley before five.”

I laugh and shake my head before dismounting, completing a half spin before landing on my feet.

“But don’t worry, Bree. I’ve matured since then.”

“God, I hope so. I take care of enough people at work. I don’t need to do it on my days off, too,” I say to tease her, but I’m only half-joking. After years of administering to the sickest of sick children, holding a drunk girl’s hair back doesn’t bring out my sympathetic side.

At the end of the park, we cross over Church Street and enter a small bar called Valhalla on the corner. I’ve been here once before, because it’s so close to my apartment. I’m not normally a junk food person, but I did try the Loaded Loki Fries last week when I stopped in after my first day of work. I hadn’t eaten anything during a full day of training and meeting patients, and I needed a guilty carb fest.

Who knew waffle fries topped with Jarlsberg cheese, sweet corn, pineapple, and jalapeños could be the most amazing flavors ever put together? The dish normally comes with ham and bacon as well, but I nixed those and it was still amazing. The extra time at the gym in my apartment building the next day was well worth it.

As soon as we walk in, my eyes are drawn to a lively group of people wearing the official pub crawl T-shirts standing around a high-top table. A gorgeous girl with a dark, shampoo-commercial-perfect mane notices us immediately and calls out, “Hey Mindy! Come on over.”

Mindy grabs my hand and leads me to the table. She gives the girl a hug before introducing me by saying, “This is my friend, Bree.”

I look around at the group during a chorus of “Hi, Bree!” and finally look at the guy I’m standing next to.

Holy shit! It’s Jon Snow in the flesh.

I’m taken aback by his smooth, youthful face and the amazing wavy, brown hair that hangs just past his ears, which makes him look like Kit Harington when he’s playing his Game of Thrones character, Jon Snow. Except I’m pretty sure he’s one of the hockey players Mindy mentioned we’d be meeting, not a member the Night’s Watch.

Once introductions are over, I’ve learned everyone’s names and how they match up. Auden and Aleksandr are married, and Kristen and Pavel “might as well be married,” according to Mindy. The sexy Jon Snow look-alike’s name is Luke, but I don’t know who he matches up with, since there isn’t another girl at the table. Maybe she’s in the bathroom. Or maybe he and Mindy are a couple?

But then she would be standing next to him and he would’ve been the one to call out to her, right? I realize I’m overanalyzing things, but that’s not unusual for me, as assessing and analyzing is an important part of my job.

“We just finished our drinks and were waiting for you to head to the next bar. Is that cool?” Kristen asks.

Mindy and I both nod and follow the group outside. The sun beats down on my face, warming my skin, and I can practically feel the freckles popping across my nose and cheeks. The comfort reminds me of home.

I follow Auden across Brevard Court, the cute little strip of restaurants and shops, to a bar called the French Quarter. With such a promising name, I’m expecting that unmistakable and funky New Orleans vibe, like I just stepped in from Bourbon Street.

No such luck.

“Well, this is a bit disappointing,” I say out loud once we’re inside.

“Why?” Luke asks.

His voice startles me, though I knew he’d been lagging a few steps behind the group, holding his phone to the sky. I wasn’t sure if he was taking photos of something or trying to get a better signal. Either way, I shouldn’t be so aware of his actions after just meeting him. I don’t want him to think I’m a creep.

“Have you ever been to New Orleans?” I ask.

Luke nods. “Multiple times.”

I watch as our friends try to wiggle through the crowd to get to the bar, and quickly decide hanging back with Luke is the better choice. “Then you know what I mean.”

“Oh!” He looks around the restaurant, as if noticing the disappointing decor for the first time, or maybe just seeing it from a newbie’s perspective. His head bobs up and down. “Yeah, it’s definitely not authentic.”

Panels of frosted glass adorned with the French Quarter lion logo and classic Greek drama comedy and tragedy masks hang above the gorgeous oak bar. The frosted glass is encircled with stained-glass flowers in bright purples, golds, and greens. It doesn’t look New Orleans-ish at all, but at least the colors are correct.

“I mean . . .” I point to the wall across from the bar, where there’s a sketch of buildings on Bourbon Street with a random strand of purple beads hanging from one corner of the frame.

“Hey! They have masks,” Luke quips.

He’s right. On the wall next to the sketch are a few random Mardi Gras–themed masks, complete with brightly colored feathers. Other than those types of things scattered about, it’s pretty nondescript.

“It reminds me more of Greece,” I say, though there’s no conviction in my voice. “Or maybe a Greek interpretation of the French Quarter.”

Separating the bar area from the restaurant seating is a half wall painted in the colors of the Greek flag: cyan blue with white panel molding.

“Have you ever been to Greece?” Luke asks, mimicking my New Orleans comment to him.

“I have,” I say quietly. I hope my assessment of the restaurant didn’t sound snooty, because that’s not how I intended for it to come out. Maybe I should temper my expectations of Charlotte. I already know it’s no L.A. or New York.

“Really?” Luke pulls back slightly as if surprised. “That’s a bucket-list trip for me.”

I don’t like to brag about the vacations I’ve taken with my family, but I’m not going to lie about places I’ve been either.

Before I have a chance to say more about it, he nods to the bar, where our friends have found a spot to stand. “Kristen’s been there, too. She’s Greek. Probably why she always drags us here.”

Speaking of Kristen, we both turn when we hear her voice ring through the crowd. “Luke! Bree! Get over here and toast with us!”

“What are we toasting?” I ask Luke as we inch closer to our friends.

“It’s not an occasion. The Russians toast to everything. Gribsy brushed his teeth this morning! Hey!” Luke lifts an invisible glass. “Varenkov blinked. Hey!”

I giggle. “Life is meant to be celebrated.”

“She’s exactly right,” Aleksandr says, handing me a shot of clear liquid, which I assume, without trying to sound stereotypical, is vodka, given the present company. “But the toast is always the same. “Za zdaróvye! Which means—”

“To your health,” I finish.

Luke flinches at my words as if they’re offensive, but Aleksandr’s eyes widen and his lips pull into a smile.

“You speak Russian?” Aleksandr asks, in English, thankfully.

“No, but one of my father’s best friends is Russian, so I’ve heard the toast before.”

No reason to mention that I had broken up with Arkady Stepurin, the son of dad’s aforementioned best friend, a few weeks before making the decision to become a traveling nurse and get the hell out of California. It’s much simpler to reference dad’s connection instead.

Despite coming up through the USA hockey system, and playing in the NCAA after that, Dad has friends in every league and every country. He and former Anaheim defenseman (now assistant coach) Igor Stepurin became close quickly. Igor played with the Ducks his entire career and Dad knew guys on the team. Those connections, along with their mutual interests in outdoor activities like hiking and water sports, created a friendship that’s still going strong.

As their bromance blossomed, Mom and Anna, Igor’s wife, were thrown together whether they liked it or not. But Mom is an opportunist—in the best way possible—and she roped Anna into being the “face” of multiple Healthy Girl advertising campaigns. That business relationship helped seal their friendship. When we moved to our current house, Igor and Anna bought the place next door the day it went on the market. The Stepurin family and ours are intertwined in so many ways.

Which made leaving town an absolute necessity after finding out Arkady had cheated on me when he traveled to play at away games. It’s not like I was head over heels in love—or all that surprised—but no girl ever likes to be used, and having been together two years, ours had been my longest relationship. Betrayal is going to hurt no matter what, but—to add another layer to the almost incestuous relationship—Arkady is also my brother Mason’s best friend.

In hindsight, I never should’ve gotten involved with someone who was so tied to our family. But how could I not? Falling for the literal boy next door is straight out of a romance novel. Though I’ve used the last few years to focus on my career, I’ll be the first to admit I want the love story someday.

But not with a hockey player. I’d sworn them off after Arkady.

Dad and Mason gave me an insider’s eye into the mindset and priorities of a professional athlete. His career—and quest for being the best—comes before everything else. And if a woman wants to be with him, she has to want to be there for the ride. She has to understand that he will be gone most of the time. He will have complete focus on the game, a borderline cockiness, and the selfishness—maybe even loneliness—that comes with that profession.

That’s not the life I want. I want someone who can have a career, but always put our relationship first. A job should be the means to have the kind of life you want, not what you put ahead of everything and everyone. It may be my own selfishness shining through. I have dreams and I don’t want to sacrifice those for someone else. In my ideal relationship, we should be able to grow and pursue our life goals together.

I totally understand why mom didn’t want to be a hockey wife.

Luke takes a half step closer to me, to accept the shot Pavel hands him, which gives me an excuse to check him out again. Both of his lean, muscular arms are covered in tattoos. Full sleeves, I’m sure, though I can only see the parts not concealed by his T-shirt. Bits of ink creep out of his collar, and it’s so fucking hot I want to lick every ink-covered inch of him. I’m curious to see what else he has under there—maybe piercings?

A shiver ripples through me at the thought of the places Luke might have piercings. With all the crazy things that run through my head, sometimes I think I should’ve been a writer instead of a nurse.

Once everyone has a shot in hand, we raise our glasses and Pasha says, “Za zdaróvye!”

To which everyone replies with the same thing, except Luke, who says, “Hey!”

“No Russian for you?” I ask him as I lean over and slide my empty shot glass onto the bar. When I straighten, I make sure to brush my arm across Luke’s stomach. He then scans my body with a sexy smile. His gaze stops at my chest before coming back up to my eyes and I almost wish I’d taken a pair of scissors to my T-shirt and modified it like Mindy had. I’m not lacking in the boob department.

“I never say it right, so I stopped. I think they appreciate that I quit butchering their native tongue.”

Lust swirls in my belly. After being the object of his wicked appraisal, I’d let Luke Daniels butcher me with his tongue. Whatever the hell that means.

After the French Quarter, we hit two more bars, both of which are located in the same courtyard. After drinks at both places I’m feeling a bit of a buzz. When we stumble out of Hooligan’s, a small soccer bar, Mindy insists we head to the Epicentre, which is a large complex of restaurants and things to do, like a movie theater and a bowling alley. I’m interested to see what it’s about, since I haven’t gotten to that part of the city yet.

At first I thought a crawl with twenty thousand people would be overwhelming, but hanging with a small group and doing our own thing is a great way to experience it. I like that it allows me to get a glimpse of multiple places in a short time. It helps me decide where I want to go back to and where I can skip.

The guys lead the way, cutting through Latta Arcade, the indoor shopping area reminiscent of arcades in England, to get to Tryon, the main street running through downtown Charlotte —or uptown Charlotte —which is what locals call the downtown area.

As we walk, my head swivels from side to side taking in the vibe of the city. The streets are a sea of matching green pub-crawl T-shirts, ebbing and flowing with each traffic light. People in Charlotte city center who aren’t wearing the shirt are few and far between—as if they missed the memo. I never would have guessed this sleepy little city was a hot spot for St. Patrick’s Day.

“Let’s do karaoke at Howl at the Moon,” Kristen proposes.

“No!” Auden says, quickly vetoing her friend’s suggestion.

“When do you ever not want to sing?” Aleksandr asks her.

“I never said I didn’t want to sing,” Auden explains. “But Howl is gonna be crazy today and we’ll never get called. We’d have to go to Lucky Lou’s to even have a chance.”

Kristen leans toward Mindy and me and explains, “Auden was in a band.”

“So was I,” Aleksandr says.

“That doesn’t even count. It was only for one song,” Auden responds, lifting one finger in the air.

“It was an important song.” He kisses her forehead and Auden snuggles under his arm.

Their interaction is sweet, but I’m completely confused by their entire exchange.

Suddenly, I hear a deep scratchy voice in my ear. “They’re talking about life before any of us knew them,” Luke explains.

Every time Luke speaks, a shiver ripples down my spine. His voice is pure sex. And there’s no question the alcohol I’ve consumed is loosening up my morals, because I can’t think of anything except screwing this dude I just met, which is totally crazy.

“I knew them then,” Kristen corrects him. “It was back when we were in college.”

“All of you went to college together?” I ask. It doesn’t seem likely, but who knows.

“Auden and I did. We met Aleks at a bar during a winter break,” Kristen tells me.

I nod in understanding at the connection. “And you met Pasha through Aleks.”

Kristen bursts out laughing, which replaces my short-lived sense of understanding with more confusion. “How I met Pasha is a story for another time. We’ll get dinner soon and I’ll tell you the entire thing.”

“Jesus,” Pasha hisses. “Can we get back to finding a place to go?”

“Good idea,” I agree, since I’m completely lost as to why he’s so pissy about Kristen telling me the story of how they met. Maybe he doesn’t like it when she talks about their relationship. Some people are super private about personal details. Or maybe it’s because we’re standing in an extremely busy part of Charlotte during a pub crawl with twenty thousand people. That could be part of the reason, too.

“So is the other karaoke place on the crawl?” I ask. I’ve never heard of it, but I’ve only been in town a few days. Today’s event is perfect, because it’s my first real walk around the city.

“Lucky Lou’s?” Kristen asks. “No, it’s on Park Road close to all the Montford bars.”

Being in a group of people who know each other and the city definitely has its upside, but it also has the I-have-no-clue-what’s-going-on side, too. The confusion must show on my face, because Luke answers my question before I even ask.

“Montford is an area of Charlotte with a group of bars and restaurants. Not as many as Uptown, but it’s another spot you can walk around and hit some cool places,” Luke says. Every time he explains something I feel like he’s my personal guide to Charlotte.

Actually, having him as my personal tour guide sounds like the best idea ever. The cloudier my head gets, the more the first place I want him to take me is the view from his bed.

“Cool,” I say with a nod. Every time Luke speaks, I’m surprised. His face is smooth shaven, which makes him look young, but the deep timbre of his voice suggests maturity. The slightly crinkled skin at his temples and purple circles underneath his eyes hint at the experience behind that deep, hardened voice. It seems like he’s always on alert—and tired of it. I want to know why he’s like that.

After I fuck him.

“Let’s skip the Epicentre,” Pavel suggests. “It’ll be a shit show over there.”

Mindy, who has had her head down while texting furiously throughout the conversation, looks up. “I’m meeting someone at Mortimer’s.”

“Nolan?” Kristen asks. I have no clue who Nolan is since I barely know Mindy and she hasn’t mentioned a Nolan in the few days we’ve worked together.

“Yes.” Mindy’s cheeks flush when she answers. Then her eyes immediately drop back to her phone.

Kristen puts her hand on my forearm and says, “That’s her hookup. He’s a drummer in a local metal band and a tattoo artist. I think he works at Common Market, too.”

“Oh, wow,” I say, impressed. I’ve always had a penchant for hardworking rock stars. “Get it, girl.”

“Do you want to head over there with me?” Mindy asks.

I hesitate before answering. I know she’s asking because she doesn’t want to ditch me after inviting me to the pub crawl with her, but I don’t really want to be the third wheel. At the same time, I just met the group we’re with and feel a little weird staying, since I don’t know them.

“Why don’t you hang out with us?” Kristen suggests quickly.

“I don’t want to impose,” I say, even though I totally do.

“We’re supposed to make random friends today. It’s a pub crawl rule.” Kristen says and winks at me.

“You’re welcome to come with me,” Mindy says, though I can tell she appreciates Kristen’s offer.

Less than a week ago, I packed two suitcases and moved to Charlotte for this assignment without ever having set foot in this city before. The whole reason was to meet new people and enjoy new places.

Plus, if the two couples in this group get cozy, I’d get to spend more time with Luke. Score.

“Go on,” I tell Mindy with a wave. “Have fun with Nolan.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod.

“Thank you so much, girl!” She leans in, hugs me and whispers, “Kristen is awesome. She won’t ditch you.”

I almost laugh, but bite my lip. I don’t blame her at all, actually. I could use a hookup. I glance at Luke quickly and wonder what his story is. Mindy’s departure might give me an opening to find out.

“Come on, Bree,” Kristen hooks her arm through mine and pulls me toward the street.

“We’ll show you a good time,” Auden adds, hooking her arm through my other one and leading me toward the road.

From the Epicentre we head towards “the alley,” as Kristen calls it. When we enter from Sixth Street, I’m expecting a typical alley—a dark, narrow walkway between buildings, maybe a few dumpsters, but that’s not what I find.

It’s as wide as a street. One side is the wall of a parking deck and the other is the back entrance to three different bars. Crawlers spill out the doors, crowding the entire alley.

At two o’clock in the afternoon, it looks more like what I’d expect on a Friday or Saturday night. We have a drink in each place before moving on. I remembered Mindy’s advice, making sure to have water between some of the drinks, but I’m pounding back more than I have since college, and by the time we leave the alley, I’m feeling loopy.

“Where to next?” I ask. My mind is clouded and walking straight is becoming a chore. I never should have tried to keep up with the group.

Luke must sense my lack of coordination, because he wraps an arm around me, guiding me forward. His T-shirt smells like a mix of laundry detergent and a warm, woodsy scent that makes me want to kiss him. I lean forward, brushing my lips across the sleeve of his T-shirt.

“The Roxbury,” Kristen answers, grabbing my hand and pulling me forward, away from Luke. “Time to dance off some of these drinks.”

I glance back to make sure he’s behind us. He is, talking with the guys. Maybe he senses me looking at him because he lifts his head. His eyebrows raise in a silent question, as if he’s asking me if I’m okay. I can’t believe something so small makes my heart flutter, but it does.

“Having fun now, Capper?” Pavel says, hitting Luke’s stomach with the back of his hand. Luke immediately responds by pushing his shoulder, which sends Pavel off balance. Quickly, I turn around to pay attention as we weave through bodies.

The Roxbury is a few blocks from the alley bars. It’s actually close to my apartment building, and although I’m having a great time, there’s a part of me that wants to slip away and take a nap. Of course I won’t do that. Not only would it be really rude, but I also don’t want to give the impression that I can’t hang.

Besides, a snap (the term I coined for sex then a nap) has a much better ring to it. Maybe I can corner Luke in this next bar and see if he’d be up for that? All these thoughts remind me of why I never really took to the party lifestyle. Once I have an idea in my head, I can’t let go. Alcohol and hormones are a concoction that lead straight to trouble.

There’s a line to get into the Roxbury, but Kristen leads us straight to the front. She walks right up to the bouncer, a tall, ripped African American man in a tight, black T-shirt and dark-blue jeans, sitting on a barstool.

“Hey, Kevin,” she greets him.

He stands up. “KK! Where you been?”

Kevin wraps his arms around her and hugs her, lifting her off the ground. When he sets her down he notices the rest of her entourage. “I see you got your girls with you, but where’s your boy?”

Kristen nods behind us. “He’s back there with Luke and Aleks. Can you let them in when they catch up, please?”

“Anything for you, mama.” Kevin winks at her and ushers the three of us through the door.

“Do you come here a lot?” I ask.

Kristen laughs. “Yes, but I’ve known Kevin for about a year. He barely works here anymore. Must’ve taken the shift for the crawl. It’s a big money-making day for the service industry.”

“I can imagine,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.

The bar we enter is a dream come true for kids raised in the eighties and nineties who were too young to get into clubs. Mark Morrison’s “Return of the Mack” blasts through the air and suddenly I’m transported back to the kitchen of our old house, where mom and I used to dance around to whatever was on the radio.

A line of pendulum lights with hot-pink globes hang above the main bar, leading to an oversize replica of Rubik’s Cube suspended by a long rod, while black light fluorescent tubes are scattered across the rest of the ceiling. Vintage album jackets and concert posters cover the walls. Behind the bar, multiple sixty-inch flat-screens play the video of the song that’s blasting from the speakers.

Kristen swings her hips to the beat as she walks toward a doorway, away from the long bar across the room from us. I follow her around a corner to a dark, narrow staircase.

“We’re going to another dance floor, not kidnapping you,” Auden says from behind me.

“I wasn’t worried.” I tell her, excited to be having such a great time with new friends. I hope this will be the first of many outings—with Luke, too.

“It’s too crowded and bright upstairs. The basement is appropriately dingy for dancing,” Kristen calls over her shoulder. The music gets louder as we get closer to the bottom. It’s a different song than what’s playing on the main floor.

The stairs lead us to a dimly lit seating area with low ceilings. I’m immediately drawn to the hand chairs—which must’ve been taken straight from an eighties-movie prop sale. They glow, neon pink and green under the black-light bulbs above. The palm of the hand is the seat, while the fingers curl upward to make the back. I need to get a selfie in one of those chairs before we leave. Hell, I may ask someone here if I can buy one of those chairs. It’d look amazing next to Dad’s vintage Pac-Man arcade table in his game room.

“We should take her to Olde Mecklenburg,” Kristen suggests once we’ve all cleared the last step.

“Olde Mecklenburg? Is that another city?” I yell over the Journey song. Which is hard to do. Steve Perry can belt it.

“No,” Kristen answers. “It’s a local brewery. German beer-hall style. Everyone sits around long picnic tables eating German food and drinking beer. They have a huge outdoor area. It’s a fun place. Super casual.”

A local brewery with a German beer-hall vibe is completely my style. I whip out my phone and type a quick note to myself. Usually, I carry a notebook with me, but I switched to a small purse for today. I can’t explain why, but I love the act of writing things down on paper rather than using technology. My phone is all I have with me, though, and I don’t want to forget the places I’ve been to or heard about today.

“Sounds great.” I pause. “But I work tomorrow.”

“And I’m pretty sure the guys play the Flyers tomorrow,” Auden says.

“You would know, hockey girl,” Kristen teases her.

We shimmy our way from the seating area onto the packed dance floor. “Don’t Stop Believin’” blares, and even though I don’t really like the song, it’s a welcome change from the same ten top-forty songs we’ve heard at all the other bars we’ve stopped into today. I can only stomach so many pop hits.

When I spot a wicked Beastie Boys concert poster from 1986 hanging on the wall behind Kristen, I reach for my phone again. I have to tell my friends back home about this place, but I’ve already forgotten the name. Above the bar, a sign advertising specialty drinks with names like “Purple Rain” and “Long Island Mr. T” makes me smile, but doesn’t tell me where I am.

“What is this place called again,” I yell to whoever can hear me.

Auden leans close to my ear and yells, “The Roxbury.”

The small crowd on the dance floor screams in unison when the opening notes of Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” fills the air. Kristen and Auden each wrap an arm around my waist, and we sway together as we sing, making me feel like I’ve been one of their friends forever. We belt out the chorus at the top of our lungs with so much flair Jon Bon Jovi might ask us to be backup singers.

After bouncing and swaying to a few more eighties hair-band hits, my head is somewhat clearer than it was before we got to this bar. I can’t say dancing helps metabolize the alcohol faster from a scientific standpoint, but it always seems like it does. I’m not about to hop in a car and drive, but I definitely feel less buzzed.

“Come dance!” Auden yells, beckoning someone toward us. I follow her gaze to the hand chairs where Luke, Aleksandr, and Pavel look exceptionally comfortable.

Aleksandr smiles at his wife, but shakes his head no.

Now is my chance. To get close to Luke and sit in a hand.

I tap both Auden and Kristen on their shoulders and motion to where the guys are sitting, letting them know I’m going over there, too. “I’m going to take a break.”

Without giving him warning, I climb into Luke’s lap and lean back against his chest. It’s a bold move, but I’m fairly confident he won’t shut me down, since we’ve been communicating in flirty smiles and touches all day.

“Well, hello,” he greets me.

“Hey,” I respond, unable to contain a silly grin.

The Roxbury is definitely the most fun bar I’ve been to in Charlotte so far. It’s not an every-night kind of place, but it’s certainly my pick for the best music and dancing. Every once in a while, I need to let loose and shake it out.

Being snuggled up to Luke is an odd juxtaposition. It gives me a sense of peace, yet fires me up at the same time. I can’t concentrate on the blaring music or anything else when I’m this close to him. The only thing I can think of is straddling him in this crazy, neon-pink hand chair, grabbing his long, thick hair, and covering his lips with mine. Instead, I lean my head back, so it’s resting on his shoulder.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, squinting at me as though he can read the level of intoxication on my face.

“No.”

Luke’s fingers dance along my waist, attempting to tickle me into another answer. But all I can think about is how much I want his fingers to dip lower.

“Fine,” I admit. “I may be a bit tipsy.”

“A bit,” Luke says and laughs. His chest shakes under me.

Before I forget, I dig into my purse and retrieve my phone. “Smile,” I tell him, holding it at arm’s length to take a selfie. I shake my hair out and place my cheek close to his.

The photo is completely on point. Luke and I look like we’ve known each other for years, rather than hours. And you can see a bit of the amazing chair. If I don’t go home with Luke tonight, it won’t be for lack of trying, since I’ve literally thrown myself into his lap. Hopefully, my hardcore flirting doesn’t jinx me into waking up with nothing more than a massive hangover. It’s silly, because I’ve never really pursued a guy before. My relationships have always happened organically over time. Then again, time is not something I have a lot of in Charlotte.

“Text that to me, would you?” Luke asks.

“Sure.” I press the screen. “What’s your number?”

Luke recites his digits and I send him the picture.

Luke’s lips touch my ear and a shiver rushes through me even before he speaks. “You know you’re fucking beautiful, right?”

A smile tugs at my lips as he slips one hand under my shirt and curves the other around my upper thigh. Internally, I curse myself for wearing jeans. If I were in a skirt, he could be hitting a really sweet spot right now. The thought of Luke fingering me in a public place turns me on.

Now that I’ve confirmed there’s a mutual attraction, I turn my head and catch his eyes. “If you think I’m beautiful now, you should see me naked in your bed.”

“When?” he asks, seemingly unfazed by my bold comment. But I’m sitting on his lap, so it’s easy to tell it effects him.

“Tonight.”

“What the fuck are we doing here, then?” Luke tightens his arms around my waist, hugging me to his chest. He nuzzles his face into my neck and kisses me softly. My eyelids flutter, enjoying his warm lips against my skin. His slides his hand from my thigh and slips it under my shirt. Both thumbs skim the bare skin just below my bra.

“Well, well! Look at you two getting cozy,” Kristen teases us. When I look up, she’s already holding her phone up capturing the moment with a flash.

“I can’t wait to get you to my condo so I can push your face down into my pillow, lift your hips and fuck you from behind,” Luke whispers in my ear. “Would you like that?”

“Totally,” I say, embracing the eighties vibe of the club as my heartbeat races in anticipation.

“I need to eat,” Pavel announces.

“Must feed the Russian bear,” Kristen says in a robotic accent that sounds more French than Slavic.

“Bears,” Aleksandr echoes. “I’m starving, too.”

I expect Luke to pat me or prod me to get up and follow his friends up the stairs, but he doesn’t. He squeezes me closer and kisses my temple.

“I am not hungry for food right now. Wanna skip dinner and head straight to my place?” he asks.

A tingle courses through my body and suddenly his touch is more intense than before. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m fucking Luke Daniels tonight. But I really like hanging out with everyone else, too, so I don’t want to walk away from my new friends.

“Ditching would be rude.”

“Tease,” he says with a sly smile.

“Anticipation, baby.” I jump to my feet, then offer Luke my hand to help him up. I know he doesn't need it; I just like touching him. My stomach flutters every time we make contact. I can’t even explain how excited he gets me.

We trudge single file back up the dark staircase. Thankfully, it brings us out near an exit, so we filter straight out onto the sidewalk.

“Basil?” Kristen asks as we walk toward the corner of Fifth and Church streets. “Is everyone cool with that?”

“Do you like Thai food?” Luke asks.

“Love it,” I answer honestly, though I’d go along with whatever place the group picked.

Pavel holds the door to Basil open, ushering Kristen in first before the rest of us follow.

“It smells amazing in here,” I say. The heavy scent of garlic permeates the air, so thick I can almost taste it. The promising possibility that there’s good Thai food in Charlotte makes me excited to check out the menu.

Kristen cups her hand over her mouth and says, “I used to like the smell.” Her skin has a green undertone. She’s standing still, fingers covering a slight grimace and I think she’s going to be sick.

I place my hand on her arm. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I . . .” Suddenly she lurches forward and runs toward the back of the restaurant, where I assume the bathrooms are. Auden follows on her heels.

I’m about to go back with her to see if I can help when Aleksandr punches Pavel’s shoulder and says, “Nice work.”

“She said she was craving this place. Do I tell her no, and get yelled at?” Pavel asks, throwing his hands up.

The word craving strikes me as odd. I glance at Luke who has a confused expression on his face. We both look at Pavel.

“She’s pregnant,” he confirms without being asked.

“What?” Luke exclaims. His eyes light up, transforming his confusion into happiness. “Really?”

Pavel nods and breaks into a huge smile.

“Congratulations, man!” Luke leans over, grabs Pavel’s hand and pulls him in for one of those bro shoulder-bump things, the way guys hug these days.

“Congratulations,” I tell him, though I’m thinking of all we’ve had to drink today and how Kristen kept up, doing shots and all. It’s a bit unsettling.

“Thanks,” Pavel says. “We are happy. Really happy.”

“Is everything okay?” Luke asks. His voice has taken on a more serious tone.

“So far, so good. She’s really early, like ten weeks or something. But her doctors are watching her closely.”

“I have cystic fibrosis,” Kristen explains. Her voice startles me and I turn around. “Everything’s good, just extra precautions.”

“Do you want to go somewhere else, KK?” Auden asks.

“I think we should head home. I thought the smell thing was getting better, but it looks like I still have an aversion to garlic.”

“At least you didn’t puke,” Auden offers.

“How were you doing shots?” I blurt out. There’s zero tact in my delivery, but I can’t help myself. My judgement may have just cost me my new friends, but I’m completely okay with that.

“My shots were water. Why do you think I made Pasha do all the ordering?” Kristen winks. Then she adds, “But thanks for calling me out. I appreciate a person who does that.”

A noticeable breath of relief escapes me. “Here.” I dig a piece of candy from my purse and hand it to Kristen.

“What’s this for?” she asks inspecting it.

“It’s lemon flavored. It should help the nausea,” I tell her.

“Thanks.” Kristen unwraps the candy and pops it into her mouth.

“Congratulations,” I tell her. “Let me know if I can help or answer any questions.”

“Umm, okay,” she says slowly.

“I’m a pediatric nurse,” I explain quickly. I got so comfortable with the group that I completely forgot they don’t know anything about me. “I’m not some creepy lady that offers people candy and says I can answer questions about pregnancy.”

Kristen laughs. “I wasn’t sure where you were coming from with the questions thing, but I didn’t think you were creepy.”

“I did.” Pavel raises his hand.

“Of course you did.” Kristen rolls her eyes and pushes him toward the door. “Let’s go. I can’t smell this place any longer.”

Once we’re back outside, Kristen takes a deep breath and sighs. “Sorry to do this, guys, but we’re going to bail. I’ve lost my appetite and I’m super tired.” She pulls Auden into her arms first, then proceeds to do the same to everyone.

“It was great meeting you both,” I say when Kristen stops in front of me.

“You, too.” She wraps her arms around me. “I’m sure we’ll see you again.”

When Kristen and Pavel are out of earshot, Luke asks. “You guys still want dinner?”

“I need food ASAP,” Aleksandr says. “We’re heading for the street meat.”

“Amen,” Auden agrees.

“You hungry?” Luke asks me.

“Not for food,” I whisper. I’m actually starving, but eating can wait. I already have a mini beer gut. I don’t need to add a food baby before getting naked with Luke.

He takes my hand in his and turns back to his friends, “This is where we leave you guys. I’m gonna walk Bree home.”

Auden and Aleksandr share a quick glance and smile because they know what’s up.

After the four of us exchange goodbye hugs, and Auden and Aleksandr walk off, Luke shakes his hand from my grasp and places it on my ass, guiding me the opposite way.

Luke stops in front of the entrance to the Avenue condos, which is less than half a block from Basil. “You’re coming up, right?”

“Hell, yes.”

I’m practically bouncing on my toes while he places a gray key fob in front of a pad mounted on the wall of the building. The lock clicks and he opens one of the glass doors, holding it for me as I slide through.

“Hey, Truman!” Luke taps his knuckles on the concierge desk as we walk by, which causes a kid in a dark-blue suit sitting behind it to look up. He smiles immediately.

“Hey, Luke! How was the crawl?”

“Amazing,” he responds, but doesn’t stop to exchange any more pleasantries. Instead, he laces his fingers through mine and pulls me toward more glass doors that lead to a bright foyer with elevators.

“Do all of the buildings around here look the same?” I ask, scanning the tranquil stone waterfall wall we pass. The Avenue has the same stark, modern decor as my apartment building. It’s definitely a clean style, but there isn’t much character, which is what I expected from a charming southern city like Charlotte.

“The ones that were built around the same time do. Or maybe it’s the same builder? I’m not sure.” Luke chuckles.

News headlines scroll on a TV screen built into the wall next to the elevator. No awkward conversations with neighbors waiting in this place. You can watch CNN instead of interact.

Once inside, Luke scans his key fob again and presses the button for the thirty-first floor.

“Wow. It’s maximum security in here.”

“There are a lot of safety features,” Luke agrees. “It’s a far cry from the place I rented when I played in Detroit. My apartment got broken into three times in one season.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” he says. “It got so bad I had to move all my stuff into my coach’s garage and sleep on Varenkov’s couch until I found a new place.”

“That’s crazy.”

I can’t say I’ve ever lived in a neighborhood like that, but I did work in a few hospitals that were located in rough parts of town.

The elevator doors open and we’re greeted by another built-in TV, this time on the wall across from the doors. I’ve only been in this building a few minutes and I’m already suffering from technology overload.

“It’s my own fault,” Luke continues, leading me down the hallway to our left. “I should have moved in with one of my teammates, but I was stubborn.” He stops at a door with 3110 on a white plaque next to it. “I’d never lived by myself before, so I was more excited about being able to afford a place then I was about figuring out what area would be safest. I wasn’t bothered by the neighborhood so much as I’d forgotten how quickly the wrong kind of people would figure out how much I traveled.”

“I’ve always lived in pretty safe neighborhoods,” I say as Luke unlocks the door with a regular old key. “With gates and stuff.”

I make it a point to add the “and stuff” so it sounds like the gate might be a feature of the neighborhood, rather than something specific to our massive sprawling house in suburban Los Angeles with entry gates at the bottom of our driveway. It probably still sounds pretentious.

Yeah, I grew up in that kind of place. Like I said, being the child of people who started a health-food empire has its advantages—and disadvantages.

“Gates and stuff?” he asks, extending his arm and allowing me to scoot past him into his place. “Welcome.”

The condo is sleek and modern with light-gray walls, concrete ceilings, and stainless-steel appliances. Straight across from the entrance are amazing windows that span the entire back wall. I have the same type in my apartment and I love them. Seeing Charlotte lit up at night reminds me that I’m in a real city, even if it is so much smaller than what I’m used to.

“This is gorgeous.” I take another step in, sliding a hand along the gorgeous black granite of the raised countertop to my left that acts as a divider between the walkway into the condo and the kitchen area. My first thought is that he’s completely OCD because every surface is clean. No stacks of mail on the counter or dirty laundry strewn about. No fingerprints on the fridge. Maybe he has a maid service.

“Thanks.” Luke stands a little taller and the skin wrinkles around his eyes. That’s when I realize there’s no cleaning lady. He takes great pride in his home. “I bought it from Gribov about a year ago. He and Kristen wanted a house. I wanted a condo. It worked out perfectly.”

He hangs his keys on a hook above a light switch in the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. You want a water?” he asks, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle.

“Please.”

A cherry-red couch sticks out in the midst of the neutral grays. I spread my arms and let myself fall backwards onto it. Closing my eyes, I rub my cheek against a pillow and sink into the plush, suede-like cushions, letting them envelop me. It feels great to be off my feet after walking, dancing, and drinking all day. But when my head spins, I realize just how drunk I am. “This is the most comfortable piece of furniture I have ever touched.”

“Everyone loves Big Red. I’m gonna write a book about it someday. Seduced by a Couch.”

Opening my eyes to look at him while I answer isn't even an option. Big Red got me, hook, line, and sinker, within two seconds. “Count me in for a chapter,” I murmur.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re writing that one tonight,” Luke says with complete confidence. His deep, sexy voice makes me open my eyes, though my lids feel heavy. Big Red is comfy, but getting on top of Luke sounds more appealing.

He stops to pry his shoes off with his toes before lowering himself onto the couch and curling up beside me. I didn’t think there was any way this couch could be any more comfortable, but I’m wrong. When Luke slides one arm under me and the other around my waist, I feel safe and warm.

He puts his hand on my hip, rests his forehead on mine and kisses me softly. All I can think of is how can I get closer to Luke. My hand moves to the back of his head and I curl my fingers in his long locks. His nose brushes mine when he tilts his head to kiss me again. This time I don’t let it end quickly. I hold his face to mine with my grip on his hair. His chest rises and falls faster than before, and I know he’s getting as ramped up as I am.

He moves his hand from my waist to the space between us and reaches for the button on my jeans. We’re mashed up against each other and he can’t get his hand where it needs to be.

My back is pressed against the couch, and I don’t have anywhere to go, so Luke tilts his hips, creating a small gap between our bodies. It’s just enough for him to pop open the button and crank my zipper down one-handed. I’m pretty impressed with his skills, especially after all the drinks we’ve had today.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he whispers, stopping his pursuit. “You seem really drunk.”

“What?” I ask. “I’m fine.”

“Bree, you can barely keep your eyes open.”

“Please,” I plead against his ear. I grab his hand and push it into my jeans, sending his fingers closer to finding out how much I want him to continue. I bite my lower lip and hold it with my teeth. My heart throbs and my breath gets heavier as Luke slides his fingers lower into my jeans.

“Luke,” I moan when he finally reaches the sweet, wet spot between my legs.

“Fuck, Bree.” The words come out in a hiss of air. He pulls his hand out, but I arch toward him. “You’re drunk. I’m drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk,” I say. It’s a half-truth. I’m inebriated enough to let loose, but not so much that I don’t know what I’m doing. I know that I’m about to have Luke Daniels inside me.