Page 1 of Mr. Swoony

One

Eloise

This is not the bachelorette party I had on my vision board.

I should be in a mud bath getting a head massage or being rubbed down with aromatic oil in a dim room. At the very least, sweating the toxins out of my overly stressed-out body in a steam room. I should not be sitting in a nightclub with a stained pink bride-to-be sash snug around my chest and a T-shirt with a QR code printed on the back for people to scan and buy me a drink.

But no, two days ago, the spa called to say that a pipe had burst, and the whole place flooded and could no longer accommodate our party. Sure, they felt bad and offered us some complimentary gift cards, but it still left my bridal party SOL. Then to top it off, my maid of honor, Jade, got stranded in Holland because of some issue with the airport’s computer software so everything was grounded.

That left my college-roommate-slash-bridesmaid, Penelope, to organize my bachelorette party in less than forty-eight hours. I’m sure it was no easy feat, and I appreciate all she’s done, but tonight has shown me a few things. The biggest one being that Penelope and I don’t have a lot in common these days. She clearly enjoys the club scene while I’m more of a “nice restaurant, a few glasses of wine, and in bed by ten” kind of girl. This is what happens when you’re scrounging up bridesmaids due to your fiancé’s inability to not ask every damn person he’s ever met to be a groomsman.

Penelope’s taken most of the shots that men have bought for me through the QR code. Not that I’m complaining. She can have the shots and the attention for all I care. It’s disgusting how many men have some lame pickup line about how it’s my last night of freedom, and I should spend it riding their big dick. Give me a break. Does that shit actually ever work?

One thing about Penelope, though, is that she’s resourceful. After being denied the VIP section, she flirted us in. Her flirting has now taken her from tipsy to drunk, meaning I need to stay sober to make sure she makes it safely back to our hotel.

She’s on the dance floor with the guy who had to convince his friends to allow our party to crash theirs. His two friends are entertaining women on the rounded part of the booth. And when I say entertaining, I mean they’re on their laps in a make-out session, glancing in my direction every once in a while as if I’m a killjoy.

I lean back onto the black vinyl couch and cross my legs, sipping my water bottle, biding my time until Penelope returns, and I can drag her into an Uber. I glance at the adjoining VIP section, which is mostly filled with guys, and I half wonder if it’s a bachelor party celebration. Where is their groom-to-be with his sash and QR code T-shirt? If I had to guess, I’d think it’s probably the blond-haired guy with a girl on either side of him. I can see from here that he’s a charmer.

One of the guy’s heads rocks back with laughter at something another guy says, and when his head straightens, our eyes catch for a moment. He brings his glass to his lips and sips, his eyes never leaving mine. Oh, he’s good. His lips part, and he smiles, showing off his perfect white teeth. Inch by inch, his gaze flows up my body but stops on my sash for a moment before he raises his eyebrows when our eyes lock again.

He’s got trouble written all over him. His dark hair has fallen across his forehead a little from being in the club, but it looks as if maybe he meant to style it that way. His shirt pulls across his broad shoulders and chest. But mostly, it’s his alluring eyes and his perfect smile with a hint of cockiness that would draw in any woman. He knows how good-looking he is.

I pull my gaze away from him and glance back at the dance floor to find Penelope with the other bridesmaids, who are really more my fiancé’s friends than mine. They’ve been drinking but not to excess like Penelope. I’m probably being a party pooper, but I’ve never been that crazy girl who can put my inhibitions aside and let loose, which is why I wanted a spa weekend for my bachelorette party.

Movement in my peripheral vision grabs my attention, and the guy I locked eyes with is talking with the two guys from this VIP section we crashed. They shake hands, and one guy opens the rope for him. He nods and thanks them before coming over to me.

Why am I nervous? I’m an engaged woman.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the one out there?” His eyes are a light brown and laced with mischief that makes good girls do bad things. But not this good girl.

“Sorry, I’m not looking for some guy to show me what I’ll miss out on by getting married.” I sip my water and turn my attention back to the dance floor.

He sinks down on the couch beside me. “I don’t pick up taken women.” He sets his drink on the table in front of us and turns his body, blocking my view of the dance floor. He puts his hand out between us. “I’m Conor.”

I glance down at it, then look back at his face. Seeing his eyes up close brings a feeling of familiarity I can’t place. I slide my hand into his. His large hand swallows my smaller one, and the roughness and callouses along his palm are something new to me. “I’m not interested.”

He chuckles. “Me either.”

I shake my head and pull my hand back, biting my lip to not smile at his flirtatiousness.

“No name then?” he asks.

I place my bottle of water next to his glass. “No name.” I straighten my back. “Listen, maybe you’re genuinely just a nice guy, but you clearly see this.” I circle my hand over my sash and T-shirt. “I’m not here to pick up a guy. I don’t want one more fling before I say I do. I’m just waiting until my friend is ready to leave so I don’t spoil her night and can go back to the hotel.”

“I am.”

I lean around him so I can try to find Penelope on the dance floor again, hoping she’s coming back. “You’re what?”

“A genuinely nice guy. Ask anyone over there.” He nods toward his VIP section.

“Yeah, I’m sure your friends will vouch for you.”

He chuckles again, and I hate that I like the sound. “True.”

“Why are you here?” I attempt to get him to give me a straight answer.

“I don’t want to tell you.” He sits back and crosses his leg so his ankle rests on his knee, getting even more comfortable instead of leaving, which is what I wish he would do.

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