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I scan the now jam-packed space as I cut toward the bar. I’m not going back to the table until I find someone. And I’m halfway to the bar when I zero in on the perfect guy.
He’s on the far side of the bar, buying a beer. Neatly combed blond hair, clean-shaven, average height, and wearing a tan suit jacket. He’s handsome in a slightly Ken-doll kind of way that doesn’t set off any sparks, but doesn’t ring any alarm bells either. But more importantly, he’s alone, and I’ve never seen him before in my life.
Him. He’s the one I need to kiss.
He glances at his watch.
Urgency strikes—I need to get to him over there, where we have a chance of talking, before he moves.
There’s a busboy cutting through the crowd next to me, holding a giant tray of half-empty glasses and bottles over his head. People part like an ocean in front of him.
If I follow him, I won’t have to awkwardly elbow my way through the crowd and can justappearnext to the guy.
Casually.
Before I lose my nerve, I jump into the busboy’s wake, keeping my eyes pinned on Tan Jacket.
For a moment, I think it’s going to work. But over the busboy’s shoulder, I see the man down the last of a glass of beer and toss a bill on the counter.
No. My heart thumps in panic. I can’t go home unsuccessful. I can’t go home to my lonely apartment to feed my cat, having failed at my only chance to prove to myself I’m not a total failure.
I must kiss this random man.
Never mind that I have no idea if he’d even be willing to kiss me back.
It’s this blind panic that has me picking up speed, my eyes following Mr. Tan Jacket as he skirts the crowd I’m now stuck in. He’s still ahead of me, so if I cut left, I should be able to—
I don’t see the busboy pause in front of me until it’s too late. I smash into his back, hard, pushing him forward and the tray he was holding tipping back, directly onto me.
It’s not the warm dregs of other people’s beer soaking my hair and shirt that are the most shocking parts of this scenario either. It’s not even the pummeling of beer bottles hitting me before they crash to the floor, or me beginning to lose my balance on my four-inch heels.
It’s that I see now why the busboy stopped. It was to let a man cross in front of him. The scruffy man in a pale blue T-shirt shirt and ball cap. The same man who’s leapt toward me, wrapping his hands around my waist to keep me from falling directly back onto my ass on the floor.
CHAPTER2
Cora
Istagger backward into broken glass, nearly rolling my ankle. But the guy still has hold of me, and I manage to steady myself on my wobbly heels.
“You all right?” The guy asks, then he grimaces, taking in my soaking, sticky hair and sputtering mouth. The crowd is beside themselves laughing and hooting. I catch sight of Tan Jacket, a smirk on his face before he turns around and walks out.
Humiliation rips through me.
The guy is still holding onto me. I grasp his forearms; their thick muscles barely registering under my palms. “I’m fine,” I say, my cheeks burning. I take a step backward, nearly falling again. He reaches out, but I hold my hands out. “I said I’m fine!”
But his eyes widen as he takes me in, and instead of staying away like I asked, he steps closer.
“I said—”
“Your shirt,” he says, standing directly in front of me.
I look down and suck in a breath. The blouse Mia insisted I wear tonight—a thin, white flimsy slip of silk—is drenched, and because the bra I chose tonight is just as thin, my nipples are clearly visible.
I might as well be topless.
My vision blurs with tears as I clutch my arms over my chest and run.
I push my way through the crowd, my throat choked with humiliation. Someone calls my name, but I don’t know who it is and I don’t care. I came here to take control of my pain. Instead, I made it a thousand times worse.
