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Fulton's mouth slips into a smile. "I'm a realist. Besides, like the guys said, it's just one night of no-strings fun."
"Fair enough."
"Now before I give you the four golden rules for any one-night stand, I'm going to preface this by stating, for the record, that there is nothing wrong with you never having had a one-night stand. That borders on reverse sex shaming, and you know how I feel about any sort of shaming."
"Roger that." I tip my fingers in salute, grinning. I love when Fulton goes on one of his mini-rants.
"The rules, like all things to do with men and sex are, unsurprisingly, very simple."
"I'm all ears."
Fulton lifts a finger as he spouts each of them off. "Don't spend the night. Don't see him again. Don't share anything personal. Don't fall in love with him. That's it. Stick to these four rules, and you're golden."
I quirk a cheeky eyebrow. "That's an awful lot ofdon’t-ingfor something that's meant to be fun."
"It is what it is." Fulton shrugs, his face growing more serious. "Ultimately, sex is about connecting. But how you choose to connect, whether it's with the one and only person you love and want to be with for the rest of your life, or a random stranger whose path crosses yours for a few hours, there's no right or wrong way." He takes a breath and looks like he's about to say something else, when Gus' voice drifts over to us.
"Has anyone seen my fiancé?" he asks with an exaggerated hand flourish. Even in the dim lighting, it's hard to miss the dazzling bling on his ring finger. "My fiancé seems to have disappeared. Do you think I should go and look for my fiancé?"
Gus recently got engaged to Marco. He's just ateenybit excited about it.
"Geez, anyone would think you're getting married or something," Fulton teases, but Gus doesn't bite. He's got groomzilla written all over him in big bright neon letters, but after what that man's been through, no one deserves to find true love more than him. I'm happy for the guy, even if it means we'll no doubt have to endure months of wedding planning torture.
"I haven't seen him." Chase cranes his neck on the lookout for said missing fiancé. "He mentioned something about going to the bathroom, but that was a good ten minutes ago."
Fulton lets out a yawn. "I might take off, you guys."
Chase nods and reaches for his jacket. "Yeah. Me, too."
We all get to our feet. Gus is still searching for Marco as we exchange a round of hugs.
"I gotta pee. I'll see you tomorrow at work. I've got the late shift," I announce to the group as I leave.
As I approach the men's room, Marco stumbles out. He looks a little disheveled, his shirt's hanging out, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say his lips were swollen.
"Hey, Marco. You okay?"
"Uh, yeah." He averts my gaze.
"We're all leaving. Gus is looking for you."
"Oh, okay. Cool." He ambles past me without so much as a wave. Hmm, that was weird.
I take care of my business and hustle toward the exit when I stumble into a six-foot-plus vision blocking my way. Breath escapes my lungs as two hazel eyes with shards of gray pierce right into me.
"Why, hello."
A twinge spikes in my chest. "Uh, hi."
He drags his hand through his wavy shoulder-length blond hair that's pulled into a messy bun, a few loose strands falling and framing his angular face. A sweet rosy hue fills his cheeks, contrasting nicely with his broody stubble.
A glimmer of a smile plays on his lips. "Having a good night?" His voice is calm despite the flurry of people and sounds around us.
I give a quick nod. Words would be useful at this point, I know, but my mouth seems to have lost its ability to articulate them. My eyes, on the other hand, are in overdrive, roaming up and down this man's body.
He's wearing a white crewneck, and the flimsy shirt material is clearly fighting an uphill battle confining all that soft skin and supple muscle, the outline of his strong, well-defined chest and abs clearly visible. Ripped, faded jeans stretch over miles and miles of muscled legs, and the outfit is finished off with a pair of dusty brown cowboy boots, bringing just the right amount of swag to his stance.
Oh, and the man smells good. Damn good. I close my eyes for just a second and inhale the spicy citrus scent wafting off him. It's not a cologne or an artificial smell. It's something natural, and it seems to be short-circuiting my brain.
