When I receive the final email, I know I’ve fucked things up. Badly.

I started talking to her through email so she could learn to trust me... but now she’s just going to be pissed. She’ll be angry that I played her for a fool. That I slept with her, and left her, and then decided to pretend I was someone else to get to her.

Except I’m not pretending. When I write to her, the person I present is the person I truly am.

I thought if I went cold turkey, let her have her holidays to herself, maybe I would get over her or she would get over me.

But dammit, all it did was cause me to sleep like shit for two weeks straight, and wish I were in a place to commit to her. Forever.

Because that is what Ava Grace deserves.

And now the emails are over.

If I write her again, I’m going to need to tell her the truth. And if I tell her the truth then she’ll never see me as someone she can trust.

New game plan: When I’m in town for the Bachelor party, I will win her over.

And just hope she isn’t still heartbroken over HeartofGold and has space in her heart for me.

* * *

The party is everything I hate. Loud shitty music, douchey guys in collared shirts and ties gyrating against half dressed women, shots of crappy liquor—fucking kamikazes and buttery nipples—being passed around. And strippers that look like they need to go home and have a warm glass of milk and bedtime story.

“This is epic,” Taylor shouts over the pop music blaring at the dance club post strip tease. “You guys fucking rock!” Taylor’s tie is wrapped around his forehead, his shirtsleeves are rolled up, a rum and coke in hand as he jumps to the music.

His buddies all give him fist bumps, hovering and grinding against the women on the dance floor.

I grin at my kid brother, thinking that if anyone dared throw me a party like this I’d just straight-up leave. Sure, I hate this vibe—but I love him. But staying doesn’t require me to stay on the dance floor.

I move to the bar, order a whiskey neat, and take a drink, look around the club, shaking my head at the antics that are so far from my day-to-day life.

Scanning the room, I do a double take. A party has just arrived. A woman in all white, a tiny white mini-dress, a veil on her head, a sash across her body reading BRIDE. Sophia is here.

And so is her entire party.

A group of women in tiny dresses, big hair, sloppy drunk, and smiling ear-to-ear lead her to the dance floor. I watch the herd cross the room, all eyes on them, and then I see Taylor realize his bride-to-be is here. A loud drunk laugh that tells me everyone is having fun erupts as the two parties merge into one wild, dancing mob.

I laugh, shaking my head as Sophia wraps her drunken arms around Taylor and gives him a kiss.

Behind me, I hear someone say, “Cute, right?”

I know that voice. I turn to face her, Ava Grace. Her eyes look heavy as she takes me in. I swallow her up. She is in heels, showing off her amazing calves, she wears a sparkly dress, shiny and gold just like her laugh. Her breasts are pressed together, drawing the eye of every man in the room, her curvy hips are accentuated by the form-fitting dress, reminding everyone that she is a woman, as if there were any doubt. She looks like pixie dust. Magic.

“Look at you,” I say slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. I feel like I know this girl inside and out, and all I want to do this weekend is find the time to lay it all out for her. Tell her the truth. That I am the man she has fallen for.

“Look at you,” she says, brow raised. “So, do you want the speech now, or later?” she asks.

My brows furrow. Speech? Does she know who I am?

“Uh, now,” I tell her.

She folds her arms. And then unfolds them. Raises a finger, pointing at me. Fiery and sassy and so damn cute.

“I don’t appreciate the way you told your brother about our night together. Now my sister knows, and the entire wedding party knows. We’re adults here. What kind of dude tells their brother about their hook-ups?”

My eyes widen in surprise. I was not expecting this. “Tell Taylor what?” I’m trying to catch up.

“You told him that we spent the night together.” She crosses her arms, fuming. Damn, I think, this girl has got some ammo.

I think back to the day I saw Taylor after my night with Ava Grace. Our talk at the coffee shop. “It wasn’t like that. He asked where I stayed the night, it came up.” I watch Ava’s eyes consider me with skepticism. “I didn’t give him details if that’s what you are wondering.”

Ava drops her arms as if she believes me, just like that. She sits down at the bar ordering a vodka soda, and I swivel my bar stool beside her. “Honest?” she asks.

“Honest. The last thing I fucking want to do is screw anything up for anyone here. I want my brother to be happy, he deserves some happiness.”

“Oh yeah?” Ava smirks. “Seems like Taylor has a pretty cushy life, does he really need you looking after him?”

“Maybe not. But he’s still my little brother. And life was hard when we were young. Our parents died, and shit, we were in foster homes and stayed with relatives for a bit, but I have always been his family.”

“That’s a pretty heavy confession for a club called Studio 69.” Ava smiles at me, warmly.

I shake my head. “My bad. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry that your parents died.” Ava sips her drink, then surprises me. “A guy I recently dated told me his mom died when he was young too, it just breaks my heart to think of anyone losing their parents when they are young. It just really puts things into perspective.”

I raise a glass, unable to speak, knowing she is talking about me; about Heart of Gold.

She clinks her glass with mine. “To cherishing every moment.”

“Every moment,” I repeat.

She laughs, shaking her head. “Sorry about getting so pissed over Taylor. Maybe it was more me being hurt knowing that after we had an amazing night it was enough for you.”

“It wasn’t enough for me.” I’m trying to figure out how to explain the HOG situation, but before I can, Sophia and Taylor crash into us.

“Ohmigod, you guys are so freakin’ cute!” Sophia squeals. “Are you gonna hook up again? Because you have to, Samson. She needs some fun so bad.”

Ava slaps her sister’s arm. “Shush,” she whisper-yells.

“What?” Sophia slurs, clearly smashed. She would never be so enthusiastic about me having a potential fling with Ava Grace otherwise. Taylor’s arm is snaked around her waist and she wags a finger at me. “My poor sis has had the worst week. She was in love with a man and then he dumped her. Splat. Kablooey. Bang bang bang. Except not. They never banged, did you sweetie?” she says to Ava. “Never banged once, and what is worse—she doesn’t even know him.”

I look over at Ava, her eyes are filled with tears. “Stop it, Sophia, please.”

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Sophia drunkenly moans. “Taylor fix something. I messed it up.”

“I’ll help by pulling you away from this situation,” Taylor says, and Sophia acquiesces. She blows kisses to Ava, who smiles back bleakly.

“Well, that was awkward.”

“What was? Your drunk sister? Or the reality that she and Taylor are making out twenty feet away?”

Ava waves her hand in the air. “No, that you heard all that. The entire pathetic truth.”

“What is pathetic about it?”

She laughs sharply. “What is pathetic is that I fell, once again, for a man who is unavailable. I trusted him too, you know that? I trusted a stranger and he broke my heart. If I ever see him, you know what I’ll do?” she asks me.

“What?” I ask. “What will you do?”

“I’ll punch him in the face and kick him in the balls. It’s a shitty thing to win a girl over only to walk away.”

I run my hand over my beard. “And what if this guy apologized, came clean, tried again?”

Ava Grace picks up her vodka, shaking her head. “No way. I am done with forgiving. All it does is leave me hurt. There are no more second chances. He had his chance and he blew it.”

I swallow, my entire fucking game plan is screwed.

So, maybe I don’t tell her the truth. Maybe I just try to take what I’ve learned over the last month and remain open. Not closed up. Maybe I try to earn her love, but this time without any barriers.

“Did I blow it too?” I ask, smiling softly at this woman who is honest and genuine and incapable of holding back.

She frowns, her face so fucking sad in that moment and I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her close and tell her she is perfect. That she makes me laugh and that Bon Jovi is terrible taste in music but that I don’t care, because aren’t we all just living on a prayer?

“My heart can’t handle another man taking me for granted.”

“Then let me take you out, not for granted —but on a date,” I tell her.

“Are you just looking to get in my pants, Samson? Because—”

“No,” I tell her, cutting her off. “I am asking you out on a date.”