It’s Friday night, and instead of being home like I typically am, I’m actually out with my BFF and her guy. My usual modus operandi for a Friday night is a twenty-minute yoga workout followed by a long, hot shower and curling up in bed with my Kindle to read one of the ten thousand romance titles I downloaded when I was feeling a) horny, b) sorry for myself,  c) pre-menstrual or d) all of the above. I consider reading romance novels both pleasurable and pure torture. You’ve got these crazy-hot guys with stubble on their faces that of course provides just the right amount of friction when that face is between the girl’s thighs. All of them ooze wealth and testosterone and look like someone drew their ab muscles on with a Sharpie. They have twelve-inch shlongs, fast cars, faster hands and they always give orgasms intense enough to curl hair, ignite the mattress, clear up complexions, reverse aging or induce a seizure. I mean, seriously?!

And yeah, I’m buying it. Buying them—lots of them. It’s pathetically all I’ve got right now. I don’t even tell Maddie that I read these types of books, because I know if I did, she’d be all over me to seek out the real twelve-inch shlong, if there even is such a thing.

It sounds unbelievable, but I haven’t been with even a modest-size penis in two years. I had a pretty serious relationship in college that let’s just say went really bad, and when I finally got up my nerve to go out with someone else a couple years after that, I completely froze up in bed…like mannequin in Antartica, touched by Snow Queen Elsa type of frozen. The guy—someone I met on a sales call, which should have been a huge no-no anyway—was confused and almost alarmed by my reaction, and I can’t say as I blame him, because it even freaked me out. At first, he tried to be nice about it and made a couple more attempts at second base, but when I lay there with my arms stiff at my sides, my heart beating so hard it was practically breaking out of my chest, he acted almost insulted and couldn’t get out of my apartment fast enough.

I didn’t want to put any guy (or me) through something like that again, so I swore to myself the only romantic relationship I’d have is with my shower massager. And my book boyfriends. A bonus: I don’t even have to be monogamous with them.

I’ll be honest: I do get lonely. I don’t share that with Madeline because I don’t want her to worry about me more than she already does. Sometimes, in addition to these urges I get where I really do want to be kissed and touched, I just would like basic companionship. Even the non-human kind. I think it would help me to get a cat—have someone to look forward to seeing when I get home from a hellish day with Stu and Lou and the gang...a buddy to sit on the couch with and ugly-cry over This Is Us. So I’m planning to check out the Humane Society in the next week or two.

For now, though, my companions are Maddie and Jack. I’m on a bar stool at New Moon in downtown Ellsworth—reluctantly, but Madeline was so damned persistent. Now that I’m here, I’m glad I caved. There’s a band playing Maroon 5 covers, and they’re really good. I do like the décor in this place: art-deco ceiling, glossy wood floors, a sleek, curvy, wrap-around bar brightened with electric-blue rope lighting. Maddie and I order Cosmos, Jack an Allagash White, and we’re deciding between bruschetta, nachos, spicy crab cakes or saying the hell with it and getting all three when Maddie grabs my arm.

“Lane...isn’t that Golden Boy? Standing in the doorway?”

“Golden Boy? What are you...” I look in the direction she’s looking, and then I remember. My God. The guy from last fall.

And he’s just as gorgeous as I remember.

I realize my mouth has dropped open and I quickly close it, whipping my head around to stare down at the table. My cheeks are burning. I hope he didn’t see me gaping. But it’s so goddamned hard to tear my eyes away from him. Talk about a romance novel character—it’s like he stepped out of my Kindle.

My heart is thumping hard. I don’t like this—my stomach feels like a bag of live squirrels. I feel Maddie’s eyes on me.

“Do you remember him?”

Um, yeah, Mads, I remember him. How could I not? It might have been five months ago and I didn’t even talk to the guy, but holy shit. We’re talking sizzling hot. Jesus, he could practically fry an egg with a glance.

“Yes,” I say hoarsely, because my throat seems to be all clogged. “I remember him.”

Jack looks from Madeline to me in lazy amusement. “Might want to pick your tongues up off the floor. Germs and all.”

Maddie shoulder-bumps him, laughing, and I allow myself to slide my gaze over in Golden Boy’s direction just the slightest bit. I can’t help it.

He’s standing just inside the doorway with another guy...hands on hips, sleeves pushed halfway up his arms, scoping out the bar. His hair is the color of ripened wheat—it’s thick, shorter over his ears, neatly-combed. He’s wearing a soft-looking, sage green sweater, faded jeans and classy-looking, loafer-style shoes. Doing that romance novel, oozing-wealth thing. And oozing testosterone. Definitely, testosterone. 

The guy beside him is decent-looking—has hair, wearing some clothes—really, that’s all I’ve got for a description, because my gaze snaps back to Golden Boy. The two of them are looking around, presumably for a place to sit, and I’m just about to force my eyes away from him before he catches me staring...when he catches me staring.

Shit. 

My heart starts to gallop. I try to rein it in. Just like last time, I’m wondering why the hell I’m having this strong of a reaction to someone I don’t even know. Especially with the way I view men, and how I live my life.

“Have you decided on an appetizer yet?” Our waitress, showing up like an angel from heaven with our drinks, standing directly in front of me and blocking Golden Boy. Even though I am not a lesbian, I want to kiss her.

“Um, sure,” I say quickly, nodding at Maddie, then at Jack. “We have, right?”

Maddie’s eyes are soft and a little anxious as she offers me a smile, which makes me just the tiniest bit annoyed, honestly, because I’m a big girl. I can deal with this. “Yes,” she says. “Nachos and crab cakes.”

“And the bruschetta,” Jack adds. “We might be having two more join us.”

WHAT. Christ, is he serious? I shoot a glance at him, and he flashes me his ridiculously charming grin.

“I hate you,” I tell him. “A lot.”

“You know what they say, Lane...there’s a fine line between hate and love.”

Now that the waitress has walked away, my view is golden...so to speak. He’s looking at me, and my heart flops as a smile drags across his face, kicking his hotness factor up about ten thousand degrees. He is all sunshine and beach sand on this raw March night, and I have to look away again, because staring at the sun is very dangerous.

I am going to drink alcohol. Perhaps heavily. I need something to quell the renegade feelings that are trying to sneak out of the lockbox I keep them in. I lift my Cosmo to my lips and sip. Let Golden Boy see that I’m busy with my friends and am not interested in his ripened-wheat hair or his fancy shoes or whatever it is he has in his pants.

Jesus, where the hell did that come from?

I take another, bigger sip.

“This band’s really good, huh?” Maddie looks at me from over her glass, smiling encouragingly. She seems a little keyed up, and I’m not sure what that’s all about.

“They sound awesome,” I agree, as my goddamned traitorous eyes slide over again toward the door.

Only he’s not there.

Relief mingles with disappointment. Trying to be subtle, I sweep my gaze around the bar.

“If you’re looking for Hot Blond Guy,” Jack says, “he’s sitting over in the back corner behind us.”

“I am not looking for anyone,” I tell him firmly. “Except our waitress. So I can get another Cosmo, because this one is….” I raise the glass, tip my head back and down it. “Gone.”

He’s chuckling. “You crack me up, Laney.”

“I believe her,” Maddie says loyally. “And even if she was looking for Hot Blond Guy, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

“Except I wasn’t.” I’m feeling slightly less stressed out, thanks to my friend Cosmopolitan. Golden Boy is in the corner, and I am over here, and that is going to be just fine. This is a public bar where people can come in and sit down and no one has to talk to anyone they don’t want to, or look at perfect blond men who make you feel their smiles way down low in your belly.

The apps are served, and we all dig in. The conversation turns to Jack’s latest renovation project—an in-law apartment in Blue Hill and the issues he’s run into with working on an old house that’s not level. I am not particularly interested in this, but it’s saving me from talking about the person in the corner. I do not take a long time drinking my second Cosmo and ask for a third. I don’t usually have more than two drinks, and with me being on the small side, it doesn’t take much to give me a good buzz. Madeline cocks an eyebrow at me. Jack gives me a fist bump. The band starts an awesome rendition of Moves Like Jagger, and couples get up from their seats to go dance. Maddie starts swaying a little in her chair.

“Either you have to use the ladies’ room, Callaway, or that’s a really pathetic hint that you want to dance.” Jack nudges Maddie playfully with his shoulder.

I start to giggle. I feel all bubbly and fun and floaty inside, and I’m so glad not to be stressing like I was before. “Go dance, you guys,” I tell them. “I’ll watch you and try not to gag at how cute you are.”

Mads is laughing, but her eyes look concerned. “You sure you don’t mind, Laney?”

“Nooo. I mean, yes, I’m sure. Go. This is a great one to dance to.”

They get up from the table, Jack clasping Maddie’s hand loosely as he leads her over to the dance floor. God, they are just so effing perfect together. I love them. I’m watching as they dance, thinking how one of Jack’s many awesome qualities is his sense of rhythm, when I’m aware that someone is standing behind me, and I know this because I smell him. It is a very, very good smell—the kind of smell that you want wafting over you in a more private setting than a club. The kind of smell that makes you want to take your clothes off even when you are absolutely opposed to taking your clothes off. It’s clean, masculine, woodsy, and I’m just about to turn around and see who this smell is attached to when I hear a voice. “Hey there.” Just two words, but the voice sounds as good as the smell smells.

Olfactory test score: 10/10. Vocalization test score: 10/10.

I’m feeling inebriated enough to want to see if the visual stacks up. I turn my head as the person steps closer.

Ohh, yesss, the visual most definitely stacks up, because this is Golden Boy. Even more gloriously golden up close and personal.

I tip my head back, first and foreskin because his crotch is at eye level. Shit...I mean first and foremost. It’s just that when you’re making eye contact with someone’s penis, you get a little flustered, and it makes you think penile things.

He’s smiling down at me—looming, actually, and making me feel small and kind of stupid. But the two and three-quarter Cosmos I’ve had are giving me liquid courage, so I keep looking, doing a quick above-the-belt assessment. Not a strand of hair out of place. Brown eyes that make you think of warm caramel on top of ice cream, thick lashes and neat, light brows, straight nose, square jaw line, clean-shaven. Broad shoulders, and the sweater is loose-fitting, but I’m betting on sculpted abs.

And that’s as far south as I dare to go.

Golden Boy is still smiling, and I realize I haven’t spoken yet, so I fix that. “Oh...hi.”

Brilliant response, Delaney. My armpits are starting to feel sticky, and I don’t like this, especially since he smells so good and I don’t want to smell...arm-pitty. Then again, what does it matter? It’s not like I’m going to see him again after this, right?

“Both of us seem to have lost our companions.” He tilts his head in the direction of the bar, and I look to see the guy he came in with talking to a curvy brunette. “My buddy Tommy saw a girl that caught his eye.” He pauses and winks, his lips in more of a smirk than a smile. “And looks like I did, too.”

Well, there’s the line. I knew it was coming. I quickly turn around to drain what’s left of my Cosmo and set the glass back down, not sure how I’m supposed to respond to that. A simple thanks? Or a cleverly modest oh, really? Where is she?

Fortunately, I don’t have to make that decision, because he speaks again. “Okay if I sit down?”

Before I even get a chance to reply, he’s pulling out Maddie’s chair. Just a little arrogant, maybe?

“What if I was going to say no?” The words are out of my mouth before I can think. Most likely the vodka talking, but I’ve been known to speak my mind straight sober.

“I knew you wouldn’t.”

Correction: a lot arrogant. Jesus.

“I’m Damon Cavanaugh.”

He reaches out a hand, and I tentatively take it, feeling a little anxiety slither into my belly, along with other equally-unsettling sensations below. Just the simple act of his fingers against mine gets to me, so I quickly take my hand away and put it under the table where it’s safe.

“Delaney Brewster.”

“Interesting last name. Like ‘rooster’ with a B.”

“Yes. That’s zzzactly what it’s like.” Whoops...I’m slurring. From the corner of my eye, I can see Maddie on the dance floor looking in my direction. I both want and don’t want her and Jack to come back, and the don’t want is freaking me out.

“Cock-a-doodle-do.” Golden Boy—Damon—raises one neat, blond eyebrow as I try not to think about the fact that he just said cock. Not only said, but emphasized.

For some reason this strikes me as wildly funny, and I giggle. Damon chuckles along with me.

“ANYYYYway,” I arrange my face into a frown and change my tone, talking sternly, like I’m a librarian and he’s an unruly student. “Why did you come over here, Damon Cavanaugh?”

“Because I think you’re hotter than hell.”

I snort. “Hell is pretty hot. I hear it is, anyway...I haven’t actually been there. I mean, I’m not DEAD.” I start giggling again.

“Somebody’s been drinking, huh?”

“Yeppers.” I raise my empty glass to show him. There’s a new song playing, and Maddie and Jack stay out on the dance floor.

“I’d like to get to know you better, Delaney.”

I take the last nacho and scoop up some salsa with it. Maddie has a little of her Cosmo left, so I finish it off for her. “How do you know someone else isn’t doing that?”

“Excuse me?”

I finish crunching the chip, roll my eyes and sigh deeply. I speak a little louder so he’ll understand. “HOW do you KNOW someone ELSE isn’t doing that?”

“I guess I just assumed you were single because you’re here with that other couple.” He nods toward the dance floor, where Jack and Maddie are holding hands. Jack bends down to kiss her, then looks over and winks at me, and I shake my head, laughing. “They seem pretty happy together.”

“They ARE. Very, very happy.”

“We all should be so lucky, right?”

Something in his voice pierces through my boozy bubble. He really is so unfuckingbelievably handsome. He’s cocky, but it’s not obnoxiously cocky. Not really.

“So...back to the getting to know you thing, Delaney. Are you seeing anybody?”

“Nope. I don’t see people.”

“Well, I have an idea I’d like to talk to you about. You might find it intriguing.”

“An idea?”

“Yes. This isn’t the time or the place, but maybe we could set up a time to meet?”

My brain is fuzzy. What the hell is he talking about? It doesn’t sound like this is your typical guy sees girl in bar, guy asks girl out situation. I’m about ready to tell him I’m not interested when he leans in close, and that lethal smell floats into my nose and heads straight for my crotch. I find myself looking at his mouth—the very well-defined Cupid’s bow in his top lip—and the no thanks I’m planning on morphs into a why not.

“I’m hoping we might be able to help each other out. I’m not going to explain now, but I’ll tell you about it when we meet.” His warm brown eyes crisscross over my face, down to my chest and back up to my eyes where he lets his gaze linger.

I can’t keep looking at him, so I turn to watch the dance floor. I’m sweating again.

Things—my feelings, my thoughts, my life in general—get blurry, and for some reason I think it’s perfectly fine to exchange cell phone numbers and possible times and places to meet. And smiles. We exchange smiles.

As Damon Cavanaugh says goodbye and walks over to his friend at the bar, I realize I’m going to have to tell Maddie what just happened, and that’s going to be really effing weird, because she knows I don’t get involved with guys.

What’s even weirder? Trying to find an answer as to why this time, I am.