“You’re thinking too much,” Kelsey said.
“Better than not thinking enough.”
“Not tonight it’s not,” she said.
I turned up the volume of Kelsey’s IPod as soon as we got in the car so that I could think in peace.
I could do this. It was just a problem that needed to be solved, an item that needed to be checked off my to-do list.
It was that simple.
Simple.
Keep it simple.
We pulled up outside the bar several minutes later, and the night felt anything, but simple. My pants felt too tight, my shirt too low-cut, and my brain too clouded. I wanted to throw up.
I didn’t want to be a virgin. That much I knew. I didn’t want to feel like the immature prude who knew nothing about sex. I hated not knowing things. The trouble was… as much as I didn’t want to be a virgin, I also didn’t want to have sex.
The conundrum of all conundrums. Why couldn’t this be one of those square is a rectangle, but rectangle is not always a square kind of things?
Kelsey was standing outside my door, her high-heeled shoes snapping in time with her fingers as she roused me out of the car. I squared my shoulders, tossed my hair (half-heartedly), and followed Kelsey into the bar.
I made a beeline straight to the bar, wiggled myself onto a stool, and waved down the bartender.
He was a possibility. Blond hair, average build, nice face. Nothing special, but certainly not out of the question. He could be good for simple.
“What can I get for y’all, ladies?”
Southern accent. Definitely a homegrown kind of boy.
Kelsey butted in, “We need two shots of tequila to start.”
“Make it four,” I croaked.
He whistled, and his eyes met mine. “That kinda night, huh?”
I wasn’t ready to put into words what kind of night this was. So I just said, “I’m looking for some liquid courage.”
“And I’d be glad to help.” He winked at me, and he was barely out of earshot before Kelsey bounced in her seat, saying, “He’s the one! He’s the one!”
Her words made me feel like I was on a roller coaster, like the world had just dropped and all my organs were playing catch up. I just needed more time to adjust. That’s it. I grabbed Kelsey’s shoulder, and forced her to still. “Chill, Kels. You’re like a freaking Chihuahua.”
“What? He’s a good choice. Cute. Nice. And I totally saw him glance at your cleavage… TWICE.”
She wasn’t wrong. But I still wasn’t all that interested in sleeping with him, which I suppose didn’t have to rule him out, but this sure would be a hell of a lot easier if I was actually
When Bartender Boy returned with our drinks, Kelsey paid, and I took my two shots before she even handed over her card. He stayed for a moment, smiling at me, before moving on to another customer. I stole one of Kelsey’s remaining shots.
“You’re lucky this is a big night for you, Bliss. Normally, nobody gets between me and my tequila.”
I held my hand out and said, “Well, nobody will get between these legs unless I’m good and drunk so hand me the last one.”
Kelsey shook her head, but she was smiling. After a few seconds, she gave in, and with four shots of tequila in my system the prospect of sex seemed a little less scary.
Another bartender came by, this one a girl, and I ordered a Jack and coke to sip on while I puzzled through this whole mess.
There was Bartender Boy, but he wouldn’t get off until well after 2 A.M. I was a nervous wreck already, so if this dragged on till the wee hours of the morning, I’d be completely psychotic. I could just imagine it… straight- jacketed due to sex.
There was a guy standing next to me who seemed to move several inches closer with every drink I took, but he had to be at least forty. No, thank you.
I gulped down more of my drink, thankful the bartender went heavy on the Jack, and scanned the bar.
“What about him?” Kelsey asked, pointing to a guy at a nearby table.
“Too preppy.”
“Him?”
“Too Hipster.”
“Over there?”
“Ew. Too hairy.”
The list continued until I was pretty sure this night was a bust. Kelsey suggested we hit another bar, which was the last thing I wanted to do. I told her I had to go to the bathroom, and hoped someone would catch her eye while I was gone so that I could slip away with no drama. The bathroom was at the back, past the pool and darts area, behind a section with some small round tables.
That was when I noticed him.
Well, technically, I noticed the book first.
And I just couldn’t keep my mouth closed. “If that’s supposed to be a way to pick up girls, I would suggest moving to an area with a little more traffic.”
He looked up from his reading, and suddenly I found it hard to swallow. He was easily the most attractive guy I’d seen tonight—blond hair falling into crystal blue eyes, just enough scruff on his jaw to give him a masculine look without making him too hairy, and a face that could have made angels sing. It wasn’t making me sing. It was making me gawk. Why did I stop? Why did I always have to make an idiot of myself?
“Excuse me?”
My mind was still processing his perfect hair and bright blue eyes, so it took me a second to say, “Shakespeare. No one reads Shakespeare in a bar unless it’s a ploy to pick up girls. All I’m saying is you might have better luck up front.”
He didn’t say anything for a long beat, but then his mouth split in a grin revealing, what do you know, perfect teeth!
“It’s not a ploy, but if it were, it seems to me that I’m having great luck right here.”
An accent. HE HAD A BRITISH ACCENT. Dear God, I was dying.
Breathe. I needed to breathe.
He put his book down, but not before marking his place. My God, he was really reading Shakespeare in a bar.
“You’re not trying to pick up a girl?”
“I wasn’t.”
My analytical brain did not miss his use of the past tense. As in… he hadn’t been trying to seduce anyone before, but perhaps he was now.
I took another look at him. He was grinning now—white teeth, jaw stubble that made him look downright delectable. Yep, I was definitely seducible. And that thought alone was enough to send me into shock.
“What’s your name, love?”
Love? LOVE! Still dying, here.
“Bliss.”
“Is that a line?”
I blushed crimson. “No, it’s my name.”
“Lovely name for a lovely girl.” The timbre of his voice went into that low register that made my insides curl in on themselves—it was like my uterus was tapping out a happy dance on the rest of my organs. God, I was dying the longest, most tortuous, and arousing death in the history of the world. Was this what it always felt like to be
