“Oh, my God! You guys are terrible!” Celia pulled the purple vibrator and black bondage tape out of the pink gift bag with Bride-To-Be emblazoned on the side, then held them up for everyone to see. And not only the bachelorette party guests. No, to Shelby’s utter mortification, pretty much every customer, server, and bartender in The Fix on Sixth also turned to look.

“Brian is going to absolutely love our wedding night. Thank you both,” Celia added, aiming her crooked, drunken grin at both Hannah and Shelby.

“Um, Celia?” Shel tugged on her co-worker’s sleeve. “The whole bar is staring.”

But Celia just laughed, yanked her arm free, and brandished the purple contraption even more wildly over her head.

“Come on, Shel,” Celia said, her words slurring together. “I’m getting married. Nobody cares about this.” She poked Shel in the chest with the vibrator’s silicon tip. “They’re all just happy for me. Even them,” she added, using the sex toy as a pointer while her arm swept the room to encompass all the tables in the main area of The Fix.

A few of the customers laughed outright, but most had the grace to turn away from the drunk and crazy bride-to-be. And Shelby—already too far down the rabbit hole to climb out—decided that it was time to either leave the party or surrender all pretense of decorum.

She weighed both options for only a second, then made her selection. “Pass me the pitcher, will you?” she asked Hannah, to general whoops of approval. “I so need another drink.”

The group of six women had set up the bachelorette party at the large table by the window at the front of The Fix, right beside the colorful wall mural depicting Austin. They had a fabulous view of the pedestrians on Sixth Street, many of whom slowed to gape at the pretty bride in her gaudy, bejeweled BRIDE tiara. Not to mention the assorted selection of anatomically correct candies and cakes that dotted the table, courtesy of Naughty Cakes, a local bakery.

By the time Celia finished opening all the presents and the girls had devoured a platter of penis cupcakes, they’d also polished off three entire pitchers of Pinot Punch—a wine, Schnapps, and frozen peach concoction that the cute bartender had promised they’d love. He hadn’t lied, and as the liquid in the pitchers decreased, the noise level rose in an almost mathematically predictable ratio.

Now, the din in little corner of The Fix had increased to DEFCON Rowdy.

“I’m totally serious,” Shelby assured her rapt audience of tipsy women. She adjusted her glasses, then took another sip from her fourth—no, fifth—glass of punch, then continued the story she’d been telling about a local country and western singer who’d hit her up for advice not long after she’d passed her CPA exam. “He told me they were a business expense. Said they relaxed him so that he could hear the music in his head.”

“Butt plugs?” Celia asked, her eyes wide. “Vibrating butt plugs were his muse?”

“You want to say that a little louder?” Leslie from payroll said. “I don’t think that table on the far side of the room heard you.”

“What did you do?” Celia asked.

“Nothing. I told you, he was just chatting me up at a party. But I can’t listen to his music anymore. At least not without wondering how he wrote it.”

Hannah laughed so loud she practically snorted. “I can’t believe you haven’t told me this story before.”

Shelby shrugged. Honestly, she couldn’t believe she was telling it now. But her mind and her tongue seemed pleasantly loose. She knew it was the punch—most of the time she never drank anything stronger than Perrier with lime when she went out. Not only did she hate having to rely on someone else to get her home—whether a friend or a taxi or a ride share app—she just plain didn’t like feeling out of control.

But today was a special occasion, and it felt nice to be laughing and drinking and having a good time with her friends.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said, leaning over to hug Celia.

“Thanks! And I know—”

Celia cut herself off, her eyes going wide as she gripped Shelby’s wrist. “Don’t look toward the bar,” she whispered. “But that guy is watching you again.”

“Really?” She was facing the window, and now she twisted in her seat to get a view of the long oak bar that ran parallel to the interior wall of the bar’s main room.

Celia jerked her back. “I said don’t look!”

“Oh, right,” Shelby said, but she felt her cheeks go pink, because she’d gotten enough of a glimpse to know that the cute guy with the short dark hair and pale gray eyes really was looking her direction. “He’s not looking at me,” Shel protested.

“Please, girlfriend,” Hannah said, scooting closer, “he totally is. And why wouldn’t he? You look hot. The outfit is amazing. And so is your hair and make-up, if I do say so myself.”

Hannah lived in one of the many downtown condos that had popped up in Austin over the last decade. Instead of going straight for The Fix after Forbidden Fruit, she’d insisted on a quick pit stop, during which Hannah had changed out of her short skirt and into skintight jeans and a backless silk halter. After that, she’d touched up Shelby’s make-up and then worked a little magic on her hair. “We may be ten minutes late,” she’d said. “But we’ll make one hell of an entrance.”

Before, Shel had pinned her hair up so that a few tendrils framed her face. She’d been pleased with the effect and had thought that Hannah had approved.

“It’s great,” Hannah had assured her as she’d yanked out the pins and fired up her curling iron. “But this will be better.”

And it was. She’d pulled down Shelby’s shoulder-length dark hair, then proceeded to curl each and every strand with a large diameter curling iron. The result being a mass of curls that framed her face and bounced when she walked.

“Even your glasses look great,” Hannah had added, tilting her head as she examined Shelby critically. “The aqua color’s really fun, and it brings out the blue in your eyes.” Shelby’s eyes were hazel, and tended to pick up the color of whatever she was wearing.

Now, in The Fix, Hannah looked her over once again with approval. “I think it’s the glasses coupled with that killer outfit that caught his eye. You’re welcome, by the way. It gives you a studious minx look.”

“You realize you sound like you’re casting a porn video, right?” Shelby protested, making all the girls at the table laugh.

“Whatever,” Celia said. “But Hannah’s right. The point is that Mr. Hottie likes it. I mean, did you see the way he was watching you earlier? Like he could totally eat you up.”

Shelby’s face flushed warm. “That’s because you tossed me that stupid vibrator. He looked over at us right as I caught the thing.” She’d been holding the purple device in both hands, and she’d glanced up to see Mr. Hottie’s eyes locked on her. Pale gray and deep set, with the kind of long lashes some women paid a lot of money for. Bedroom eyes, Shelby thought, then quickly banished the ridiculous thought.

She remembered the way the corner of his mouth had quirked up as he’d watched her—not to mention the corresponding tug she’d felt deep inside. She’d looked away, then, suddenly shaky and dry-mouthed and unsure.

“He was laughing at me,” she said, “not lusting for me.” But the protest sounded false even to her own ears. There’d been a definite zing between them. But that didn’t mean Shel was going to do anything about it. And even if she was inclined to pull on that thread, she honestly didn’t know what to do or how to do it.

“Well, he’s not laughing now,” Celia said. “That’s some serious lust in those eyes.”

“You should go talk to him,” Hannah said.

A shock of terror cut straight through Shelby. “Are you insane?”

“Hannah’s right,” Celia said. “You should.”

Shelby tried to shake her head, but it came off as more of a trembling chin wiggle. “No way. Really. No. Freaking. Way.”

“Oh, come on, Shelby. He’s obviously interested.” Hannah nudged her shoulder. “I’ll go with you if you want. He’s by the bar. We could go order a drink. Strike up a conversation.”

“A drink? Another drink and I’ll float away. In fact, I need the ladies’ room.” The combination of alcohol and nerves actually made the need rather urgent, and her stomach began to roil. “Oh, God,” she said, clapping her hand over her mouth as she stood and stumbled toward the back of the bar.

“Oh, hell,” she heard Hannah say, followed by the scrape of a chair. Then her friend was at her side, and they were hurrying to the restroom, and Shelby was fighting the ridiculous urge to laugh, because this never happened to her. And as mortifying as the whole thing was, she was really and truly having one heck of a good time.

They reached the restroom, and Shelby pushed the door. It was lighter than she expected, and it slammed in, banging against the back wall and making Shelby jump and someone inside the bathroom yelp. She caught Hannah’s eye, and they both started laughing like loons.

“Come on,” Hannah said, hooking an arm around Shelby’s waist and leading her inside. Shelby stumbled, then looked up at Hannah as her head swam. “The floor is moving,” she announced, suddenly realizing how much she’d had to drink. She hadn’t felt it when she’d been sitting down. But now that she was up and moving … whoa, Nellie.

She drew in a breath, but the extra oxygen didn’t help much. She lifted her head, stared down all four of Hannah’s eyes, and said as slowly and clearly as she could manage, “I totally blame you.”

From across the small room, she heard a little gasp, followed by, “Shelby?”

Shelby blinked, then tried to focus on the pretty blonde standing by the sink. It took a second, and then it hit her, and Shelby grinned so wide it almost hurt. “Brooke Hamlin!” She stumbled toward the other woman, then threw her arms out and engulfed her in a hug.

Shelby had worked on the Hamlin family’s taxes since before she took the CPA exam. Technically, her former boss was Judge Hamlin’s accountant, but Shel had done the heavy lifting and had met everyone in the family on more than one occasion.

In fact, she and Brooke were close to the same age and had met for lunch once or twice after tax season was over.

Now, Shelby added an extra squeeze to her boisterous hug. “Isn’t this the best party?” she said, not remembering that Brooke wasn’t actually at their party until she responded with a dubious, “Um, yeah?”

Beside them, Hannah laughed as she thrust out her hand for Brooke to shake. “Hannah,” she said in introduction. “Also known as Shelby’s babysitter.”

“Like hell,” Shelby retorted, fully intending to explain why she didn’t need a babysitter. Unfortunately, some Pinot Punch came up with her words, and so she clapped her hand over her mouth and stumbled toward the open stall, then locked the door behind her before crouching down as her stomach betrayed her.

She stayed on her haunches, breathing through her mouth just in case her stomach decided to go another round. Outside the stall, she heard Brooke and Hannah talking, and she rolled her eyes at Brooke’s comment that there must have been an alien invasion because, “That’s not Shelby.”

“Isn’t it awesome?” Hannah asked, her voice positively giddy. “We're here for a friend's bachelorette party, and I told Shel she had to let her hair down.”

“You're evil,” Shel called from the stall, then chuckled at Hannah’s immediate retort of, “But you love me!”

While Hannah and Brooke continued to talk, Shel gathered herself, finally emerging when she was sure that she and the punch left in her stomach had come to an understanding. “Whoa,” she said, heading for the sink and the dispenser of complimentary mouthwash. “I feel better.”

And she did, too. The room was spinning less, and her head felt much more clear. Once she swished and spit, she felt positively human.

Hannah’s lips twitched, and Shelby pointed an accusatory finger at her, but Hannah just hid her laugh behind a fake cough before turning to Brooke and asking if she’d like to join them.

“No, thanks. I need to get going.”

“You sure?” Shelby pulled her into a one-armed hug. “Because it's really so awesome to see you.”

“You, too,” Brooke said, and from the way she laughed, Shel was sure that Brooke thought she was still drunk. Which maybe she was. A little, anyway.

“Come on,” Brooke added. “I’ll walk out with you, at least.”

They traipsed out together, moving through the crowd toward the front corner where the laughing, drinking group of bachelorette party-goers now waved at Shelby and Hannah, urging them to hurry back because the bartender, Cam, had delivered two more pitchers of that deliciously dangerous punch.

Of course, the shortest way back was to walk parallel to the bar, and that put her right in front of the group of men with whom Mr. Hottie had been hanging.

Shelby told herself she shouldn’t look, but she couldn’t help it, and the next thing she knew, she was bumping into Brooke as she reached for Hannah’s arm and pulled her to a stop. “He’s still there,” she whispered, shooting a surreptitious glance toward Mr. Hottie. “Do you think he's—oh, shit. He's looking this way.”

Those eyes. He’d just completely nailed her with those gorgeous eyes. And, yes, Shelby was still a little loaded, but she felt the impact of that look all the way down to her toes. And she was pretty sure it wasn’t because of the alcohol.

“Just go talk to him.” Hannah gave her a little shove, but Shelby wasn’t about to budge. “He's obviously noticed you. And you have so noticed him.”

“Who?” Brooke asked, and Shelby whipped around to face her, mortified that someone other than Hannah had witnessed her moment of lust.

“Him,” Hannah said, but before she could lift a finger to point, Shelby yanked her arm down, almost losing her balance in the process. Four-inch heels and Pinot Punch were not a safe combination.

“Don't point! The cute guy right there,” she told Brooke. “With the short hair and the The best mornings have Wood T-shirt.”

Then Brooke did the unthinkable. She raised her hand and actually waved at the guy.

“Oh. My. God.” Shelby wanted to melt into the floor right then. Was Brooke insane? “Why are you waving at him?”

Brooke shrugged, totally nonplussed. “He's a friend. His name's Nolan Wood. And the tacky shirt is the name of his show. Mornings With Wood. He does crazy ass commentary for one of the local radio stations.”

“You know him?”

“Casually. He was going out with a friend.”

“Oh.” A disconcerting wave of disappointment crashed over Shelby. Ridiculous, since it wasn’t as if she intended to go out with the guy. He just happened to be very pleasant to look at.

“He's single now, I think,“ Brooke continued, her tiny smile suggesting that she understood Shel’s disappointment. Except, of course, that Shel hadn’t been disappointed.

Really.

“Just go,” Hannah urged before turning to Brooke. “I keep telling her to go introduce herself and say hi.”

Brooke looked from Hannah to Shelby. “I can introduce you.”

She said more after that, but those four little words had taken up all the space in Shelby’s brain, and she didn’t hear anything else until Hannah gave her a little shove in the direction of the men.

 “Yes. Perfect. Go.”

“But—”

“Go,” Hannah repeated as the band playing on the stage at the other side of the room ended their set and people started to shuffle toward the bar.

“We'll all go,” Brooke said, beginning to thread her way through the increasing crowd. Shelby followed for a bit, but then her nerves got the better of her and she held back, despite Hannah’s persistent urging.

After a moment, Brooke paused, turned around, and then headed back toward Shelby and Hannah with an amused smile playing at her lips.

”I can't believe you were going to walk right over to him,” Shelby said.

”Well, I thought I was going with you,” Brooke replied. She said something else, too, but a rowdy frat boy shouting at his friend blocked all but Brooke’s last words. “He doesn’t bite.”

”At least not unless you ask him to,” Hannah quipped.

”I really can't,” Shelby said. ”I mean isn't it...” She shook her head and drew a deep breath. “I’m not usually so bold. Are you?” she demanded, wishing she could get into Brooke’s head. The other woman seemed so confident.

“Me?”

Shelby nodded. “Yeah. Would you ever throw caution to the wind like that?”

Brooke’s expression turned wistful. And maybe a little sad. “I have,” she said. “I did.”

”Oh.” Shelby and Hannah exchanged glances. ”What happened?”

Brooke blinked. ”I fell in love,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

”Careful,” Hannah teased. ”You might scare her off.”

Brooke shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts, then smiled at Shel. “Go talk to him.” She started to raise her hand to signal Mr. Hottie, but then she froze. For a moment, she simply stood there, and Shelby finally realized that she was staring at a good-looking bearded man holding a highball glass.

She turned back to Shelby and Hannah, her expression a little shell-shocked. “I—I forgot something in the ladies' room. Y’all go on ahead. Nolan’s a really nice guy. Just introduce yourself.”

“What—” Shelby began, but Brooke hurried away before she could finish the question, and Shelby was left standing beside Hannah, more than a little baffled.

“What was that about?” Hannah asked, but Shelby could only shrug.

“Come on. Celia’s probably wondering what we’re doing.”

“Oh, no,” Hannah said, grabbing Shelby’s wrist. “Just because you lost your wingman does not mean you have to abandon your mission.”

Shelby blinked, her mind too fuzzy to make sense of Hannah’s words.

“I mean go,” Hannah said. “You’re a gorgeous, smart, interesting woman fueled by liquid courage. There is no reason why you can’t walk up to the guy, smile at him, and ask if he wants to buy you a drink.”

“But—”

Hannah put her hand on her hip and stared Shelby down. “But what?”

Shelby had intended to point out that she really didn’t need another drink. Instead, she shook her head. “Nothing.”

She swallowed, then glanced toward the guy. Nolan. Brooke said his name was Nolan. He’d shifted to make room for the newcomers at the bar, so he was no longer looking her direction. But as if he felt her eyes on him, he tilted his head a bit to the side. And then, very slowly, he looked over his shoulder.

Zing!

His eyes found hers immediately, and in that instant, she forgot how to breathe. Her chest tightened, and her skin prickled from the electricity arcing between them. And for one breathless, wonderful moment, she lost herself in the fantasy of his touch. His hands on her waist. His breath on her neck. His lips at her mouth.

Good grief, she really was drunk.

The thought slammed against her, and she took an involuntary step backward. And it was only when she stumbled on those damn four-inch heels that she realized he’d moved from his place at the bar to right in front of her. He reached out, one hand taking her elbow and the other sliding around her waist to keep her from falling. As if she hadn’t fallen hard already.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his rich, low voice as intimate as a caress.

Some tiny sober corner of her mind pointed out that Hannah had slipped back to the party. That Shelby was alone with Nolan. That Nolan was holding her close, probably feeling her heartbeat.

That this was her chance—and she’d damn sure never get another one.

She drew in a trembling breath as she gathered her courage, searching for the perfect words for this perfect moment.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, as intellect and moxie both failed her completely. “But you really need to let me go.”