I’m on a pier, at night, the ocean rippling beneath me, standing next to a sexy man. Strike that. An extremely sexy man I know practically nothing about, and we’re saying goodbye to a sweatshirt encrusted in regurgitated mangoes and peaches. When I signed up for this little getaway, I never envisioned my first day going this way.

“She was good while she lasted, wasn’t she?” Beck asks, looking out into the ocean where my sweatshirt ashes now rest.

“She provided so much warmth.”

Scooting closer to me, Beck’s woodsy cologne mixes with the ocean breeze and sends a thrill of chills up my spine. He wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close. “Such a beautiful ceremony. You did her well.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I joke, feeling a little awkward now that we’ve bid my sweatshirt adieu.

He sighs and turns toward a small part of the resort next to the water where they brought in sand, lawn chairs, and hammocks for a very resort-like ambiance. “Care to join me in the hammock?”

“Sounds a little naughty.”

He squeezes me for a second before releasing his grip on my shoulder. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.” Why do I think I might regret that?

He guides me down the tanning pier to the sandpit, his hand on my lower back, his strong presence making me feel comforted, like I’m in good hands.

Who is this guy and where did he come from? And why is he single?

It’s like I plucked a hero from one of my books and set him in this picturesque setting.

He’s everything I would write about when it comes to one of my male characters . . . besides the buzzed hair. I’ve always been partial to a styled haircut on a man, so the buzz is different. Hot in a way. Pushing past his hair, he has it all: the penetrating eyes, the witty banter, the easygoing, addictive personality, and he’s all muscles, at least from what I can tell. Plus he has this rebel quality to him, dark and sultry in a way that has me curious to find out his story.

“I can’t remember the last time I was in a hammock,” Beck says, holding it still so I can climb in.

I hop in, not being the slightest bit modest because frankly, what’s the point? Beck has already seen it all at this point, no matter how much he wants to deny it. Although, at least I put panties on before I went to dinner.

“I had one in my backyard growing up. I spent hours reading in it.”

Beck joins me, a little clumsily which makes me giggle. Once he rights himself, he lets out a pent-up breath and his shoulders visibly relax next to me. “That hammock mounting could have gone wrong so fast. I mean, I could have flipped you right out of this damn thing and sent you straight into the sand beneath us.”

“I’m glad you were able to mount somewhat gracefully”—I pause and suggestively wiggle my eyebrows—“because eating sand doesn’t sound quite appetizing right now.”

He grins. “Does it ever?”

“Maybe.” I smirk and then look at the bright stars above us. “What brings you to Key West, Beck?”

I feel like that’s a question I should have asked a while ago but with the whole naked hotel room exposure—which I have yet to tell my friends about—and the sweatshirt burial, we haven’t had a real chance to get to know each other. Not that I’m complaining all too much. What I know about Beck so far is that he’s a gentleman and likes to have a good time, even if that means torching a sweatshirt and sending it on it’s way.

There aren’t many people I know who would stand there, hand over heart, talking about the thread count of a sweatshirt while fake crying.

The corner of my lips pull up just from the image of Beck wiping “tears” from his eyes with the back of his index finger.

“Do you want the truth, or do you want a fabricated lie that will cause you to fall madly in love with me?”

Chuckling, I answer, “Both.”

“Fair enough.” Beck pushes his foot against the sand below us, sending the hammock into a relaxing swing. “Want the truth or the lie first?”

“Hmm, how about I guess which is which.”

“Ah, things are about to get exciting.” He chuckles and rubs his hands together. “Okay, reason number one.” He clears his throat. “I’m attending a wedding this coming weekend, a wedding I wasn’t invited to, but my friend begged me to attend because he wanted to bone his wife without children around. It doesn’t make sense, but hey, I’m a good friend so here I am.”

Errr, that’s eerily familiar. I swallow a little harder than expected. There is no way he’s crashing a wedding like me. That’s only something a desperate author does in order to find signs of love again. “Okay, reason number two.”

“My sister is getting married this weekend and I’m giving her away. Our dad passed away a few years ago from a heart attack, and even though we’d been estranged for two years, she asked if I would be a part of her wedding. So here I am.”

Silently he swings us, my mind whirling with what the truth could be. Both stories were told so effortlessly, so he’s either a really good liar, or some kind of con artist. I should be scared. I should go to my hotel room right now, wishing Beck a good night, but I don’t, because I’m intrigued by this man. Behind the good looks and intelligence, there’s something beneath the surface, something dark that makes understandable the age in his weathered eyes.

Because of that, I go with option number two. It seems the most plausible, because who really crashes weddings? Only crazed women with the tendency to sit in a bush with a notepad and pen and take notes while staring at couples and listening in on their conversations.

Research and all, it comes at a high price, like spikey branches to the tush.

“Hmm, I’m going to go with reason number two.”

He nods and says, “I knew you were going to say that, but you’re pretty little self is wrong. I don’t even have a sister.”

Stunned, I prop myself up as best as I can on the loose woven thread of the hammock and stare him down. “You’re here to crash someone’s wedding?”

He winces. “Uh, yeah, kind of.”

“Unbelievable.” I shake my head in disbelief and lie back down.

“Now before you judge me and give me a lecture about RSVPing—”

“I’m not judging you.” I turn toward Beck, the hammock making the shift slightly difficult. “I’m just a little . . . surprised.”

“I don’t plan on eating any food.” He bites his bottom lip. “That’s a lie. I plan on eating a lot, but hey, I’ll bring the party to the dance floor. If anything, I’m bringing them the gift of dance, so you can’t be mad at me for that.”

“I’m not mad.” I laugh, still surprised. “I’m just trying to comprehend this.” Looking him square in the eyes, I say, “I’m here crashing a wedding as well.”

This causes Beck to sit up, his brawny chest straining the fabric of his shirt. He intently studies me, his eyes flitting back and forth until he finally asks, “You’re serious? You’re really crashing a wedding?”

I press my lips together and nod.

A sharp laugh escapes Beck as he lies down on the hammock and sends our swing into more of a frenzied movement. “I’m just going to assume, given our luck of baby puke, naked encounters—”

“I knew you saw boobs.”

“I didn’t see . . . ah hell, what’s the point? I totally saw your tits and fuck, woman, they’re hot.” I blush . . . horrendously, my face heating up along with every vein in my body. “But like I was saying, with our luck, we’re going to the same wedding.”

Clearing my throat, trying to move past the part where Beck just made my nipples harden and pop out like turkey thermometers, I lamely say, “Yeah, that would be our luck.”

“Let me guess, wedding is on Saturday at The Hemingway House.”

Cue another rush of heat to eclipse my body. “The one and only.”

He nods and lies there silently for a second before saying, “So what you’re telling me is that I have a date for the wedding Saturday night.”

Not expecting him to say that, I laugh out loud and for some reason say, “I’m wearing teal, in case you want to match and take couple pictures. You know, might as well do the whole couple thing up, right?”

This garners, a deep, low, rumble of a laugh from Beck. “Thank God I packed grey pants with a white button-down. There won’t be any kind of clashing in those couple photos.”

“Nope, not even in the slightest.”

Still swinging, I say, “This is weird.”

“Nah, it’s fitting. Got to live life to the fullest, Rylee, because you never know when it will be taken from you.” Sitting up, his statement confusing me, he holds out his hand, and nods toward the building. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.”

I allow him to help me to my feet. I stand there, being towered over by this stranger, this mystery of a man, my apparent wedding date for Saturday, and even though he wants to walk me to my room, I’m not entirely ready for this night to be over.

With a slow, leisurely pace, we walk side by side, the ocean rolling into the shore to our right, filling in the silence. “Have any touristy things planned while you’re here?” I ask, feeling kind of dumb from my question, unsure of what to fill the silence with.

“Nothing planned. Just kind of winging it.” Why does that not surprise me? Beck seems like the guy who on a Wednesday, drops everything and flies to Tahiti because he wants to, hence, crashing a wedding. At least I have a somewhat sound reason for crashing. You know, rekindling my romantic brain and all.

“Me too. If Victoria doesn’t want to tear me open with her pre-historic mammoth claws tomorrow, I might try to convince her to go sightseeing with me.”

“Yeah? Going to tour the island? You know it’s only a two-by-four, right?”

My brows pull together. “What do you mean a two-by-four?”

We stop in front of our rooms, the doors only a few feet apart. Hands in his pockets, looking sexy with his mouth quirked to the side, and his short haircut emphasizing his lovely hazel eyes, he says, “The island, it’s only two miles wide by four miles long. It’s incredibly small, so I think your sightseeing will only last a few hours at the most.”

“Huh.” I ponder this. “Shows how much research I did before I came here.”

Chuckling, he answers, “A little ill-prepared, but there is nothing like a good adventure that gets my blood roaring. I’m right there with you, Rylee. I did zero research before hopping on a plane down here.” I laugh. I’m learning that Beck is Mr. Impromptu. Why bother spending hours in front of a computer planning his trip? Shrugging, he continues, “Who knows, maybe we’ll run into each other tomorrow.” With that he tips my chin with his finger and says, “Have a good night.” Pulling a key card from his back pocket, he enters his room, fist raised to the sky and shouting, “Long live your sweatshirt.”

The declaration to my burned-up threads makes me snort inelegantly, but before he can see the snot spray unattractively from my nose, his door closes.

Thank God for quick-closing hinges.

I wipe my nose, pull my key card from the bra of my dress, and enter my room.

How strange. This random man, who not only witnessed puke apocalypse on the airplane, but also walked in on me while I was naked in his room, who then shared a weird sweatshirt burial, is now resting his head only a few feet away from mine. It’s weird, almost like Cupid is waving his bare ass in the air, laughing and shooting darts in my direction.

That fucking chuckling cherub.

I wave my finger to the sky. “Nice try, dude. Guess who’s not interested? I came here to witness love, not dive deep into the emotion myself.”