What just happened?

What the fuck just happened?

My best friend—the one person I can count on in this world, the person I rely on most—basically just pimped me out to the hottest guy in the bar.

That’s what happened.

Ridiculous.

That’s the first word that popped into my head when I looked at him. Dark blond hair, just long enough to be considered unruly. Strong, angular jaw covered in golden stubble. Soft, generous mouth. Straight, white teeth. Deep-set eyes, the kind of blue that if you look into them for too long, a search party is going to have to be formed to find you. Tattoos reaching up from the collar of his shirt. I’m pretty sure the term ridiculous extends to what’s going on under it too.

Ridiculous… and vaguely familiar. Not in a didn’t I see you on TV sort of way. In an I passed you on the street last week and almost ran into a light post because I was staring so hard kind of way.

It’s the fact that he’s so ridiculously out of my league and possibly semi-famous that I felt comfortable talking to him in the first place. There is no way a guy who looks like this is going to be interested in someone who looks like me. I’m the gatekeeper. I’m the girl guys like him start conversations with so they can get to girls like Dani. No need to get all tongue-tied and stupid over a guy I can only dream about because girls like me don’t get ridiculous.

We get bland.

Average.

Respectable.

The human equivalent of vanilla pudding.

Guys like Derek.

Derek is a douche. He broke up with you, remember?

It was mutual.

No, it wasn’t. He dumped you. That you’re not upset over it says something.

That you were willing to marry him, despite that fact says something else entirely.

It says you dodged a bullet.

That you need some headboard-knocking, tectonic plate shifting, come-so-hard-your-grandma-can-feel-it-in-Decatur sex in your life and you need it right freakin’ now.

Maybe so, but not with this guy.

No way.

If I can’t take my shirt off in front of someone who is firmly in my league, then I sure as hell can’t take it off in front of someone who isn’t even playing the same sport as—

Shit, he’s talking to me.

“Hmm?” Great. Now that Dani has unceremoniously dumped me in his lap and run out of here like the place is on fire, I’ve fallen victim to selective mutism.

“I said, what’s ridiculous?”

Your face.

The hope that you might let me sit on it.

“Dani.” I blurt out her name, like a swear word.

“Dani’s your friend?” He glances at the door she just ran through.

I nod even though I’m suddenly sure that friend is a strong word. She’s not my friend. She’s a sadist. “I just moved here a few days ago and I just broke up with my boyfriend and she thinks I need—”

“To get laid?” He lifts a dark, sandy brow and I about slide off my barstool. “By me.”

OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod…

I nod and swallow the wad of cotton that seems to have suddenly lodged itself in my throat. “Which is—” I make an up and down gesture with my hand. “I mean, look at you. It’s—”

“Ridiculous.” The corner of his mouth kicks up in a smirk.

“Yes. Thank you.” Air rushes into my lungs and I can breathe again. My chest doesn’t feel like a trash compactor. I’m not wondering if the ladies’ room has a window and if I can fit through it. He agrees with me. He understands that I’m not hitting on him. That I’m as much a victim as he is. “I mean, she’s clearly insane.

“Clearly.”

“She even suggested I sleep with my boss.”

His lids narrow around those impossible blue eyes and the smirk falters. “Who’s your boss?”

Shit.

“No one.” This is LA. Everyone’s boss is someone. I shake my head, eager to get away from the subject of Landon Trask. “He’s just some guy. No one important.” I shrug. “Anyway, I’m really sorry she dumped me on you like this.” Averting my gaze, I reach into my purse to fumble out my cell phone. “Don’t worry, I’ll just—” I’ll call an Uber. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll call an Uber, go back to Dani’s place and murder her for doing this to me. Planned formed, I look up at him with a relieved smile “I’ll just get out of your—”

“Oh…” That smirk is back in full force and he leans across the bar and into my space, the sudden proximity of his mouth to mine pushing the air out of my lungs in a rush. “I think you’ve misunderstood my intentions.”

“Intentions?” I say it like I have no command over the English language, whatsoever. Like I have no idea what the word means.

“Yes…” he reaches for me—past me—to pull my ponytail over my shoulder. “My intentions.” His fingers tighten around my hair to tug me closer, shooting tingles across my scalp. “I intend to take you home, Ellenore,” he whispers it, his lips brushing against mine with every word. “I intend to get you naked.” His blue eyes go dark, and his mouth curves in the kind of smile that would lay me out flat if I weren’t already sitting. “And I intend to make you come so goddamned hard, you forget your own name.”

Holy Jesus.

“I’m dressed like a soccer mom.” What am I doing? Am I actively trying to repel him?

long.”

“I don’t—I mean I really—shit.” I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t have to look at him because he’s too perfect. Too everything I’m not supposed to have. “I’m bad at this.” Obviously. “I don’t know what to do.”

The fingers around my ponytail tighten again, jerking me closer and I gasp, seconds before his mouth closes over mine. I feel his tongue skim along my lower lip, gently coaxing my mouth open, and suddenly I know. I know what to do.

I do what I want.

Opening my mouth, I can’t help the sigh that shutters up my throat when his tongue slides past my lips to tangle with mine. His teeth nipping and teasing, slow and hungry. Like he’s starving. Like he wants to eat every last bit of me, but he wants to take his time. Wants to savor every bite.

Finally, he pulls his mouth from mine and I reluctantly open my eyes to find him looking at me. “Say yes.”

Out of my league.

So out of my league.

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I let it out in a rush, formed around a single word.

“Yes.”

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