I stand at the bar at the back of the Bystander and force myself not to sway from side to side as I wait.

I got here too early.

We planned our meet-up in a series of minimalist texts, like too many words would screw things up. Who knows? Maybe they would.

Name the place!

It took only seconds for the ideal spot to appear in my mind. The Bystander is a place I used to frequent when I went to Columbia. It’s a little rougher than the places I went with Christian and Carolyn when they would visit, and it’s about a thousand rungs below the Purple Swan, but it’s comfortable and always busy on Friday night, which makes it perfect for my purposes.

Our purposes.

I’d written:

The Bystander. Do you know it?

I will soon ;)

My heart beat faster at that little wink. Who knows why that simple little emoji made me react that way? It’s probably a standard symbol for every guy trawling the app.

When’s good?

I bit my lip. Play it cool, Reeves, play it cool.

9:30?

I’ll be there!

Look for me

I’m looking for him now.

The bartender makes another sweep toward me. “Drink, miss?”

It’s the second time he’s asked me. I turned him down when I got here fifteen minutes ago in case Mystery Man wanted to buy me my first drink, but now the nerves are getting to me.

Nerves. Me!

All based on a single photo of a guy on a dating app.

I take in a deep breath through my nose and exhale out my mouth, tapping my fingers on the worn surface of the bar. “Sure. Yeah,” I say to the bartender, who has waited patiently for me to make up my mind. That probably has a lot to do with the fact that I look amazing tonight. As soon as Mystery Man’s final reply came in, agreeing to meet me at 9:30 at the Bystander, I’d tossed my phone onto the table by my purse and run to the shower, emerging ninety minutes later wearing my favorite dating outfit, my hair blown out straight and shining, and just enough makeup. “A 7 and 7. Go light on the Seagram’s, though.” What with the stress of the day and the fact I was too excited to eat a full dinner, I’ll need to be a little conservative if I want to have my wits about me when he finally arrives.

The bartender slides the drink across the bar to me. I take a sip, the warmth of the liquid competing with the chill blooming in my gut.

What if he doesn’t show?

This kind of shit is exactly why I stopped using this kind of app, adopted the rule, and left the random hookups in the past. I remember now. All those rude rejections that shouldn’t affect me but did—and do—anyway. Even after years of convincing myself to accept that I’ll never fully understand how the lives of my closest friends work, it hasn’t totally tempered the sting when someone stands me up.

It’s what makes hanging out with Christian so convenient. His invites are a guarantee.

I take another sip of my drink, a bigger one this time, to quell my fear, and then casually turn to glance toward the front of the bar.

The entire world slams into slow motion.

It sounds cliché, like some bullshit out of the movies, but that’s exactly what happens when I see him, moving confidently through the crowd, the smile on his face self-assured and sexy. The plain t-shirt he wears is tight on his muscular form, but not too tight—this is a man who knows how to dress himself, and the cut of his jeans does him all kinds of favors.

It’s him.

Holy hell, he’s hot. The picture didn’t do him justice. The picture didn’t tell me how the sharp line of his jaw would look in the multicolored lights bouncing around the bar, the darker shadows emphasizing the chiseled lines of his face. The picture didn’t tell me that he would move like a jaguar, power barely contained in the frame of his body, each movement somehow sensual and strong at the same time.

He’s coming right toward me.

I resist the urge to look behind me, because this man—sex on two legs, an angel ripped from the pages of GQ but without the high fashion—cannot possibly want to spend time with me. Next to him, I might as well be dressed in sweats, my hair tossed up into a messy bun, half-asleep.

Heads turn toward him as he approaches, but he never stops.

I can feel my pulse pounding loudly in my ears.

Then he’s closing the final gap between us, and I suck in a breath.

“Hey,” he says, looking down at me, his green eyes lit from within by excitement. “You’re Jessica0607?”

“Yeah,” I say hoarsely, and at the sound of his voice—smooth, deep, gorgeous—my panties are even damper than they were a moment ago when I first laid eyes on him. “It’s not the most creative name, but it works for the Internet.” I swallow hard. “You’re AlecToday?”

He laughs, a beautiful sound, his eyes locked on mine. Women are still eyeing him from all around the bar, but he doesn’t turn his attention away from me.

I’m not a flighty woman. Yeah, I might pick up and move more often than the average person, but I’m not the kind of girly-girl who has to fan herself whenever a hottie walks by.

Or at least I wasn’t.

“That’s me. But you can call me Alec.”

“Jessica,” I answer.

I can’t tear my eyes away from him. All of me feels ablaze, and he hasn’t even touched me yet. He looks into my eyes, then runs his fingers through his hair. The next moment, his face breaks into a half-smile that sends pure lust rocketing down my spine, landing in the space between my legs.

Whoa, Jess, I tell myself sternly. Don’t even think about breaking the rule for this guy. You don’t even know him!

My irritating inner voice is drowned out by Alec’s deep, smooth voice.

“Well, Jessica,” he says, and for the first time I register his British accent. “Can I start by buying you a drink?”

The suggestion in his voice sweeps me away. This is where it starts…but not where it ends.