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My lips curve a little, hidden behind the drink in my hand, and all I can think is, Damn, he’s so fine. Of course, he’s also wearing a cowboy hat. The way that makes my blood heat and goosebumps fly, because he couldn’t look sexier if he tried in a midnight-blue suit and those glasses that highlight his features so damn well.

But our silent moment of connection is severed as quickly as it connected. Sky grabs my arm, pulling me toward friends we know from our art program, and I already know who he’s gonna be over there talking with. Who he’s got on his arm tonight.

Even though I do my best to ignore the fact he’s here—by drinking my body weight in fruity, lethal punch in an effort to loosen up and try to forget about the guy I can’t be thinking about—I’m failing spectacularly. There’s no denying the pull, the magnetic goddamn force drawing my gaze in his direction. While I genuinely do make an effort to chat with other people, there’s no escaping that feeling making the back of my neck glow and butterflies swirl in my stomach. I’m constantly aware that eyes are on me, and it’s taking everything I’ve got not to give in and stride over there.

Just to prove to him that he’s as strangely affected as I clearly am.

Because if he’s not interested in guys, if he’s screwing my ex’s roommate, then why the hell is he spending so much time burning holes into the back of my head.

After an hour or so of talking shit, knocking back a couple more shots with our group of friends, and being dragged for photos in front of the enormous Christmas tree, I shout at Sky that I’m gonna meet her back inside. She hollers something back over the swell of noise about this being her song. Whatever, the alcohol is humming in my veins, and I’m definitely not interested in returning inside just yet.

There’s been absolutely no one who I’ve been remotely interested in flirting with, and one particular person who I can’t stop fixating on.

Happy goddamn holidays. I’m a slut and I want my ex’s brother, who apparently isn’t into guys. Hooray.

I lift my drink and sway a little, cheersing my merry little mishap of getting all kinds of twisted up in my newfound single life … when, of course, the object of my strange and unthinkable obsession is right there.

Seems like he’s had the same idea.

Screw him and all his buff muscles.

Rich hazel eyes flicker to mine. He’s leaning against one of those big-ass gothic archways that are everywhere in this place. I don’t even stop this time, striding boldly up to him and getting right in his pretty goddamn face.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I hiss once I get up close and notice his eyes go a little wide behind those sexy glasses of his. “You can’t keep staring like a creep all night.”

“I’m not.” He keeps his voice low, glancing to one side with just enough guilt in his expression to drag my attention with his. As I follow his line of sight, I can’t help but laugh at the very obvious presence and proximity of the two girls he’s here with—they’re just around the corner waiting to use the restroom.

Smirking at him, I shake my head, leaning a little closer, because the punch has fundamentally obliterated my understanding of personal space. “Your sister is right there, cowboy. Quit eye-fucking me, or she’s definitely gonna notice.”

“Your girlfriend, don’t you mean?” His upper lip pulls into a tiny snarl, and I want to catch it between my teeth.

“Ex.” I stab his torso with a finger. Goddamn, he’s so solid beneath that suit. “Heavy emphasis on the ex. Besides, your little fuck-buddy date is right there too.” I touch my tongue to my front teeth, daring him to look at just how close the other two are and asking whether he’s gonna do anything about it.

“She’s not—”

“Yeah. Yeah. She’s not anything more than a place to stick your dick. Fine. Merry Christmas, or Yule, or whatever.” Rolling my eyes, I step back and get one final chance to look him up and down. One last moment to fully appreciate the sight of him, because I need another drink. Maybe the entire contents of the bar. “I bet she won’t go down on you tonight like I would.” With a smirk, I go to walk off, and that’s when my world spins in a way that doesn’t have anything to do with the liquor.

A strong hand grabs hold of the front of my suit jacket, tugging me forcefully. I collide with a broad slab of chest and all the air rushes from my lungs.

CHAPTER 9

“Stop being a brat.”

The sexiest guy I’ve ever encountered stares at my lips, with a tortured expression, but I’m in no mood to give in and play nicely.

“Can’t handle a little rough riding, cowboy?” My lips twitch. I feel the cocky smirk settling there and don’t care. Let him see.

Our chests both rise and fall and his grip on me intensifies. “My name’s Flinn. Not that you seem to care, even though you keep accusing me of being the one acting like a slut.”

“Stare at me like that, and it’s a dead giveaway.”

“Brad …” His throat works, and there’s a hint of desperation in his voice. Hearing him say my name—the fact that he knows that detail about me—is the thing that severs any restraint I had. Reaching up, I catch his hat, stealing it off his head in a fluid motion before slamming our mouths together. From the moment our lips connect, it’s pure electricity.

Fuck, he tastes as delicious as he looks.

Flinn might be burlier than me but we’re the same height, and what I don’t have in bulk, I have in muscle. I can manhandle this cowboy with ease, and it leaves me smirking ruthlessly against his lips when I realize he’s allowing me to get a little pushy with him.

The rocket fuel punch tag-teams with the shots from earlier to ignite a flame low in my stomach, sending a coil of heat further down to my groin.