Kennedy should never have let her roommate talk her into this party.

Yes, it was nice to see her friend Kat, but she’d have rather seen her former colleague over lunch or maybe out for a glass of wine. Parties sucked, and Valentine’s Day parties—be they for or against the holiday—they sucked hard.

She’d ordered a cab ages ago and now she cast a surreptitious look down at her phone. Thank God. They were only ten minutes out. Good enough. She could wait outside for ten minutes if it meant escaping this sea of awful.

She spotted her roommate in the crowd and veered toward her, noting without surprise that the pretty blonde was chatting animatedly with a cute guy. Maybe she shouldn’t interrupt. She started to head toward the door with a plan of texting her friend to say she’d left, but Emma had other ideas.

“Kennedy!” Emma’s voice carried, her high-pitched southern twang standing out from the crowd, just like her. “Where are you going, girl?”

Kennedy turned back with a wary smile that probably looked more like a grimace. She’d been caught.

Emma turned her back on the guy, not seeming to notice that his face fell with disappointment at the loss of her attention. Kennedy almost felt sorry for him. She’d been living with Emma for two years and she still hadn’t quite adjusted to the little whirlwind of joy. That’s what she was, too. A petite, high-energy bundle of happiness. Kind of like a good-tempered Chihuahua.

She meant that in a good way. Not one of those yippy little dogs, but one that was excitable but sweet. Too loveable to ever get annoyed with.

She was also a caricature of cuteness. Like right now for instance. Emma widened her blue eyes in obvious disbelief, looking for all the world like a Disney princess. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

Kennedy grimaced again, feeling about a hundred years older than her friend, even though in reality she was only three months older. Maybe she had an old soul—or maybe Emma had been blessed by a fairy godmother. Whatever the explanation, Kennedy often felt old, bitter, and inexplicably angry around her roommate.

Not angry at her, just angry in general. Her default mode these days seemed to be pissed. It hadn’t always been like that, but then again, she hadn’t always felt like the oldest person on the planet either.

Emma’s big eyes demanded an explanation.

“I, uh… I’m tired, Em. I’ll see you in the morning, all right?”

Emma’s lips turned down in a pout that almost worked. Luckily Kennedy knew better. Give this girl an inch and she’d take a mile.

“Come on, Kennedy. Just stay for a little while longer.”

But Kennedy was already backing up, making her way toward the door with another apologetic wince. So sorry, gotta go.

It wasn’t until she hit the cold air outside that she allowed herself a long exhale of relief. Thank God, she’d escaped. She should never have let Emma talk her in to going to a party. Ever, but most especially on this day of all days.

You need to get out there, Emma had insisted as Kennedy had poured herself a bowl of cereal for dinner. You need to meet people.

Why? Why did she need to meet people? Emma had never given her a satisfactory explanation for that one.

If she had to guess, she’d say Emma, like most of her friends and family, was hoping that she’d meet someone.

Someone other than Patrick.

But Kennedy had no plans to meet someone new. She and Patrick had a good thing. Or they had before they’d decided to take a break while Patrick went off to get his MBA in Boston. Just like their relationship, their decision to press pause on their relationship was practical. It made sense.

But try explaining that to Emma.

Practical, she’d repeat with a look of disgust. What does practicality have to do with romance?

But what Emma could never seem to grasp was that Kennedy didn’t want romance. She didn’t need it. Maybe she had some sort of genetic flaw or something, because she’d never been one for love stories and fairytales. What she wanted out of life, and out of a partner, was respect, autonomy, and a well-defined path.

She had that with Patrick, just like she had that with her career. And that was no accident. She’d plotted her career in human resources to follow a clear-cut trajectory, just like she and Patrick had planned out their life together based on their mutual needs and desires.

It all made perfect sense, really, including their decision to take these two years to focus on their individual pursuits rather than bog themselves down with the logistics of a long distance relationship.

Of course, Emma didn’t understand any of that. Kennedy could talk until she was blue in the face and Emma would still give her that same puzzled look—the one that made her eyebrows draw together and her nose crinkle up. It was adorable, really. Adorable and annoying. She was tired of having to explain herself and exhausted by nights like tonight when her well-intentioned friend tried to get her out of the apartment.

“Good luck.” A guy’s voice next to her called her out of her reverie and brought her to the moment.

The man beside her was huddled in on himself, as if hunching would make the cold go away. He was cute in a scruffy way. Dark hair, scruffy beard. That was about all she could tell from her view of his profile.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

He glanced over and she temporarily forgot to breathe. Oh fuck. He wasn’t cute. He was hot. No, he was gorgeous. Like, somebody ought to put this guy up on a billboard kind of gorgeous.

She found herself blinking rapidly. Good Lord, her eyes couldn’t take in this much masculine beauty all at once.

He nodded toward the street. “Good luck getting a taxi. I’ve been waiting forever.”

His words managed to cut through her haze of awe. Oh. Right. He was standing there waiting for a cab.

She held up her phone automatically. “I’ve got one coming.”

His scowl was hot. How did he manage that? He pulled his dark eyebrows together and his perfect mouth turned down at the corners. “I tried ordering a cab and it keeps saying there are none available.”

He said it as an accusation. As if she’d worked some kind of voodoo to summon a ride. She thought about informing him that she’d hailed the cab nearly an hour ago but changed her mind. Instead she shrugged and gave him a smartass grin. “I guess they just like me more than you.”

He made a snorting noise that made steam billow in front of his face like one of those horses in Central Park. For some reason that image made her laugh—no one in their right mind would compare this guy to a horse.

Not unless he was hung like one.

She let out a little huff of laughter at her own raunchy joke and watched as his scowl intensified.

“I’m so glad my misery amuses you,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, grumpy.”

He bristled.

God, this guy was too much fun to annoy. Inexplicably, his growing irritation made hers diminish. The more annoyed he got, the more amused she became. Thank God, because she’d been ready to hurt somebody after putting up with all those drunken morons back at the bar.

Not that Kat was a moron, but her friends seemed to be.

Or maybe she just hadn’t been in a party mood. But then again, had she ever been in a party mood? She honestly had to mull that over. She was so lost in thought, she kind of forgot that grumpy hot dude was still standing there.

But he was, and apparently he was still annoyed with her. “You know, a nice person would offer to share her ride.”

“This nice person sounds like an idiot.” God, this guy was funny when he was pissed. Maybe because it seemed so wrong on him. He didn’t seem like a gruff, grumpy guy. His shockingly blue eyes looked hurt, and his mouth pursed in a pout.

He looked like a little boy who’d been told he couldn’t play with his favorite toy.

That image made her grin widen as she crossed her arms to keep out the cold.

“Why is she an idiot?” He sounded personally offended.

Was he serious? Now it was her turn to scowl. “Because what kind of dimwit shares a ride with a guy she doesn’t know? Your hypothetical nice girl is just asking to be murdered by a serial killer.”

He blinked at her and she saw some of his miserable gloominess lift for a moment as amusement flickered over his features. “Sounds like someone is a scaredy-cat. Is that your way of saying you think I might be a serial killer?”

Before she could respond, he reached up and scratched at his scruffy beard. “Is it the beard? Because that’s kinda the look I was going for.”

She squinted at him like he was a crazy person, because he obviously was. She was torn over whether to scold him for calling her a scaredy-cat or laughing at his sudden glee.

Laughter won out. She shook her head and turned back to the street. “You’re nuts.”

“Maybe, but I’m not a serial killer.”

She turned to glance at him and he brought three fingers up. “Scouts honor.”

“I bet that’s what all serial killers say.”

He smiled and she had to turn away so he didn’t see the effect it had on her. Quite frankly, the effect was embarrassing. That dazzling smile was like a bolt of lightning to her core. Her belly sizzled, and she had to press her thighs together to relieve a new and unexpected ache of longing.

What. The. Hell?

This was so not okay. Yes, maybe it had been a while since she’d gotten some action, but she wasn’t some pubescent teen boy who got horny at the drop of a hat.

She shifted, her body screaming with desire and calling her a liar in the process. Clearly it had been way, way too long.

Maybe Emma had a point, after all. She’d been trying to get Kennedy to go out and have fun while she still could. “While she still could” was Emma’s not so subtle way of telling her that she found Patrick to be boring and asexual.

While it was true that he wasn’t exactly the life of the party, their sex life was perfectly adequate. Or at least, it had been until they’d taken a break.

She understood that sex was a necessity in life, and it wasn’t like she was some prude. She’d just never gone without it for so long because she’d typically been in some sort of relationship. Her stance on boyfriends was simple. When there was an opening, she filled it. But these days, thanks to her break with Patrick, she was in an unexpected hiring freeze.

But maybe Emma was right. No one was enforcing this hiring freeze. She and Patrick were both free to pursue sexual pleasures.

There was an opening in the sex department and the demand was clearly there.

And maybe she’d been in human resources for too long if she was applying those terms to her sex life.

The hot bearded guy rubbed his hands together and then crossed his arms over his chest. “I just came from this party,” he said, nodding toward the bar. “I saw you in there, so clearly we have friends in common, which means I’m not technically a stranger.”

She couldn’t stop watching his mouth. God, what man had lips like that? She wanted to taste them. Her mouth watered and she resisted the urge to lick her own lips.

Jesus, what was happening to her?

His words registered belatedly. Friends. They were friends? “I don’t know your name.”

“But I bet you know my friend Kat,” he said.

She must have given something away with her expression because his face brightened. “See? You can ask Kat about me, we’ve been friends forever.”

She believed him, but keeping him waiting was amusing to her. Crossing her arms as well, she tilted her head up and narrowed her eyes, studying him with feigned suspicion. “Okay, hotshot, what’s her boyfriend’s name.”

“Bryce Dalton.” He smirked. “That’s an easy one.”

She found herself fighting the urge to smile. He looked so proud of himself, that boyish pouting had turned into boyish glee.

“Okay, what’s her middle name?” She had no idea what Kat’s middle name was but she was having fun toying with this guy.

“Easy, Penelope. Come on, give me a hard one.”

She couldn’t fight the laughter much longer, but just then a car pulled up.

Her ride.

It was decision time. It was now or never. To stick with her current nun-like habits and head home, or take a walk on the wild side for once. Would she heed her body’s demands over her common sense?

She looked over at the man in question and her body made the decision for her. Me want, it seemed to say.

What the hell? She had no reason to feel guilt over pursuing her baser needs. It was her prerogative as a temporarily unattached woman. Emma had been right about the fact that once Patrick returned a fling with a sexy stranger would no longer be an option, so why not take the opportunity while she had it?

A thrill raced through her at the prospect of what she was about to do—so impulsive, and passionate, and…so entirely out of character.

But her decision was made and she wasn’t about to turn back. The risks versus rewards had been weighed and the choice was simple, really.

She was going to get laid.

Before she could overthink it any further, she scrambled into the back of the cab, glancing back as she shifted in her seat. “Well?” she called out to him. “Are you coming?”