I stared at the search results for the best local bars and hangout spots. The last thing on earth I wanted to do was to go out to a bar by myself. But as I was in a new city, with no friends of my own just yet, I had no choice but to put myself out there.

I peered at the list of places. The three that were closest to the apartment were all highly rated by sassy-looking twenty-something women saying things like, “Great drinks! Awesome music. Cute bartenders.”

I couldn't be mad at cute bartenders, could I?

The problem was, the more I stared at the listings, the more my anxiety threatened to take over. Not that I was anti-people or extremely shy--okay, maybe I was a little shy. But this was fine. I could do this. It was more that I was walking into a brand-new situation, and I didn't know how to go about it. For a long time, I'd depended so much on my ex, Brian, but I hadn't even realized it.

My friends had been his friends. From the time we met, we just about did everything together. So for a long time, I’d never had to experience anything new alone. And that was bad.

Get off your ass, put on some skinny jeans and a cleavage-baring top, and go. Yes. Sexy top, check. Skinny jeans, check. Heels that I only ever wore to go out, check. Makeup done, hair fluffed.

When I looked at myself in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. I hardly ever wore my contacts. But going out with glasses was never something I enjoyed. And glasses often got in the way of kissing. Not that I planned to make out with anyone, but still. There was always hope. Is there really?

I shoved aside that thought. I was trying new things. And that meant going out on my own. It meant meeting new people.

With my clutch in hand, I walked the three blocks to the bar. Thankfully, it was still late summer, so the evening was balmy and warm, the last vestiges of the August heat holding on tightly and refusing to give way to fall.

When I walked up to the bar, the guy at the door immediately stuck his palm out for my ID.

Even though I was twenty-one, I was well aware that I looked about sixteen. I handed it over gladly and peered inside.

As promised, the bar was hopping. But it wasn't too crowded yet, since it was only about 7:30. I'd missed most of the happy hour crowd, and it was still too early for the pregame crowd. But there were people dancing, friends crowded around tables and laughing. And from the brightly colored drink concoctions in front of people, it looked like the cocktails were flowing.

I took my ID back from the bouncer at the door, and he gave me a wide smile.

"Have fun." His eyes crinkled at the corners, and I realized that he had a nice smile. Then he winked at me. It was hard not to wonder how many pretty girls he'd winked at so far since his shift started.

"I think I will."

I opened the door and glanced around, looking for a table. I didn't want to look like too much of a loser by taking one of the big tables by myself, so instead I opted to meander toward the bar, and was quite happy to find a barstool open near the end.

The girl I sat next to smiled at me warmly. "You need to try the watermelon martini. It's awesome."

I grinned at her. "Thanks. I think I will.”

I glanced down the bar and searched for a bartender. There were two of them. One was shorter and stockier, with a sleeve of tattoos peeking out from under his short sleeve shirt. He had hands like meat cleavers. But even with his thick fingers, he handled each of the drinks delicately.

The other one was tall. Very tall. Broad shoulders. I could see a tattoo or two peeking out from his short sleeve shirt. He also made my mouth water a little, and I hadn't even seen his face.

Yeah, but you've seen what those jeans do for his ass, and ... Yeah, okay. No way a guy looked like that from the back and wasn't hot from the front. That would just be some sort of cruel, karmic joke.

The stocky guy caught my eye first, and came down to my end of the bar. "What can I get you, beautiful?" He had a thick Boston accent that instantly made me smile.

I nodded to my new friend’s drink. "Whatever in the world that watermelon thing is."

"You got it." When he went to grab a glass, the other bartender turned around, and my heart caught in my throat.

Oh, shit. Trevor.

Of course that would be Trevor. Because apparently, I couldn't get away from him, his abs, that smile, and Jesus Christ, those eyes. Were green eyes that color even natural? It would really help if I thought they were contacts or something.

At the other end of the bar, he smiled and flirted with some other girl. Blonde. Of course, he probably preferred blondes. Which was just fine by me. Not that I cared.

As if he could feel my gaze on him, his head swiveled and our eyes met. He blinked in surprise, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

Oh, great. Now it would be awkward. Like, he would be forced to talk to me, or something. I mustered a light wave, and he nodded then turned to the other bartender and said something in his ear. The guy's gaze immediately flickered over to me, then back to Trevor. Then he shrugged. He handed the drink he was making over to Trevor.

What in the world was happening? A few minutes later, Trevor sauntered down to my end of the bar. "Here's your drink. I call it the Ladies’ Orgasm."

The corners of my lips twitched. "Are you sure that's what it's called?"

He grinned. "I had it made for you special."

I glared at it. "But I really wanted the watermelon drink."

"If it makes you feel better, I put watermelon liqueur in it." He grinned. "Try it. If you don't like it, I'll bring you the drink on the menu."

I eyed the concoction, not sure if I should trust him or not. But when I took a sip, I had to admit it was delicious. Problem was, I couldn't taste the alcohol at all. Which worried me. Because that meant I would more than likely have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. "You're right. It's good."

He winked at me. "You can say I know my way around a woman's orgasm." And then he sauntered off.

Jackass. He was incorrigible. He was deliberately teasing me. Trying hard to be outrageous. Well, it would take a lot more of these drinks for me to sweat.

The girl on the stool next to me leaned over. "Oh my God, you have the bartender flirting with you and making personalized drinks? You're a girl I definitely need to know. I'm Lila."

I stuck out my hand. "Natalie. Nice to meet you."

For the next twenty minutes, as I sipped my drink, my new friend introduced me to everyone she was with. And just like that, I had a hodgepodge group of people that I sort of knew.

The next drink Trevor brought over was called a Lick and a Promise. Again, I couldn't taste the alcohol at all. Jesus, how was he making these drinks? But again, I sipped happily as I chatted with my new friends. The alcohol loosened me up, so I wasn't my usual shy and uptight self.

The next drink he brought me, he called a Dick Lick. At this point, I was pretty sure he was making up the names. But Lila assured me that those were real drinks.

After the next sexually suggestive drink he brought over, I was getting loose. Happy.

From the end of the bar, as he made drinks, I could always feel Trevor kind of checking in on me. Occasionally nodding with his eyebrows raised, as if to ask if I was okay. I returned the looks with a happy smile. I wished I could pretend I wasn't attracted to him. But honestly, who wouldn't be attracted to him?

He had the face of a freaking model. And the body of, well, it was better if I didn't think about his body. But too late. There it was. The throbbing between my thighs that had started the second he'd opened the door shirtless refused to go away.

It looked like my battery-operated boyfriend was going to be getting a hell of a lot of use this year.

I had a feeling that, with a face like that, he slept with a lot of girls. He probably didn't keep too many of them around for very long. Plus, they all probably looked like models, not hyper-nerdy psychology students.

One of Lila's friends, Matt, asked me to dance, and usually, I would've said no. But I was already feeling all the good vibes from the alcohol, so I said yes. It was some kind of hip-hop mix, with totally recognizable radio tracks. And I loved it.

Well, I loved it at first.

Everything was going great. I even had a little rhythm. I wouldn't be in a music video or anything, but I could stay on beat. And I didn't look like an awkward chicken flailing my arms everywhere. Everything was great, until Matt started to slide his hand over my hips to my ass. I shifted out of his grip and shook my head.

"Easy on the hands."

"Well, how else do you expect to dance?"

"We've been doing just fine without your hands on my ass."

From my peripheral vision, I could see Trevor watching us, his gaze boring in on the side of my face. Matt tried to pull me closer again, and leaned his face in. But I just moved back, wanting out of his reach.

"Dude, still too close."

He threw his hands up. "What the hell is wrong with you? You're the one who's been drunk and flirting with me all night."

Had I been flirting with him? I was so out of practice. I thought she was just being nice. "You know what, I think I'm done."

But before I could get away, he snapped his hand around my wrist and tried to pull me back. "No, I think we should finish the dance."

I tugged my wrist loose, and rubbed it gently where he'd gripped too hard. "And I said no thank you."

I turned to move back through the crowd, but my face planted into a rock hard chest. Irritated, I craned my head up to find Trevor standing there with a scowl on his face. He was glaring directly at Matt.

"That's enough. Door's that way. You should probably hit the skids."

Matt frowned. "What the fuck? She was the one that was grinding all over me."

Trevor shook his head. "From the looks of it, she doesn't feel like dancing anymore. Time for you to take the hint."

 Matt glared at me, but he eventually just flipped me off, and headed back through the crowd toward the door.

"Thanks for that. But you didn't need to."

"Yeah, I did. If the bouncers had come over, it would've been a whole thing. You okay?"

"I'm fine. I guess maybe I was flirting with him. I think I had too much to drink."

His lips tipped into a wry smile. "Actually, I've been sending you virgin drinks all night."

I blinked up at him. "What? Those drinks were all virgin?"

He nodded and shrugged. "Well, I didn't see you come in with any friends. So I was looking out for you."

A hot wash of embarrassment flooded over me. "So, I have been flirting with him and just chatting away like an idiot? And I can't even blame alcohol? Great."

"I don't see what you're so upset about. You seemed perfectly fine. And I wanted to make sure that your inhibitions stayed intact. You don't seem the type to go to a bar by yourself."

"What? So you think you were helping me?"

 "I'm your roommate. I was just trying to look out for you."

I couldn't believe it. More than anything, the embarrassment was going to kill me. I shoved away from him. "I'm going home." I heard him call my name, but I just grabbed my purse and headed straight for the door. Maybe this whole “making friends and trying new things” idea had been a mistake.

By then, my feet were killing me, so I just took a cab three blocks back to the apartment. Within thirty minutes, I had my makeup off and was in my comfy pajamas, snuggled in my bed. I was still awake when Trevor came home an hour later, and I lay perfectly still.

I told myself I wasn't listening to see if he'd come home with anyone. After all, that was none of my business. But I was lying to myself. I was desperate to know.

And I was still stinging from the embarrassment of how I'd acted tonight. The one thing that struck me, though, was that I'd been perfectly chatty and friendly without the assistance of alcohol. As a psychology student, I knew the effect well: the placebo effect. I'd thought I had a little alcoholic assistance, so I’d felt more comfortable. But it was still embarrassing to know what he'd done.

Within ten minutes, I heard Trevor's shower going, and I tried to relax and force myself to sleep. Tomorrow was another day. But that's when I heard it. The moan.

The long, slow, drawn out sound that made my clit pulse. The kind of sound that guys made when they were—oh my God. Had he actually brought someone home after all? No. I would've heard it. So what was he doing in there?

Never mind. It didn't take a genius to figure it out as I heard his low, soft curse. He was—uh—taking care of business. But the real question was, just who was he thinking about?