Page 2 of I Wanna Be Your Lager

At the rental car in the parking lot, I toss my suitcase in the trunk and climb into the driver’s seat. I shove the key into the ignition and turn it over. The car purrs to life, and I grip the steering wheel. Just when everything in my life was falling into place, it burns to ashes in seconds. My life was blue skies and sunshine. I had a good job that was going to put my life back on track—no more derailments. I had what I thought was a good relationship. Then, it all went up in a plume of smoke. Hello, old friend, rock bottom. We meet again.

What am I going to do? Where am I going to stay? My flight back to Tennessee doesn’t leave until tomorrow. Sleep at the airport? Anger, anxiety, frustration, and hurt all flood my body at the same time. It’s overwhelming. I inhale a deep breath and let it all out in a blood-curdling scream as I beat my fist against the steering wheel. Once I’ve emptied my lungs, I drop my hands to my lap. Movement to my left draws my attention. A terrified young man in a blue plaid polo and khakis stares back at me. I jab my fingers on the button to roll down the window. “Nothing to be alarmed about. I’m okay. Just working out some frustration.”

Without saying a word, he nods before scurrying away.

Glad I can now cross off terrifying young adults from my list of things to do today. I press the button, and the window rolls up. Screw Pax. He doesn’t get to control how I feel. I shouldn’t be the one hurt and frustrated while he doesn’t have a care in the world. My plan was never to go back home. Failure wasn’t anoption. Or at least it wasn’t supposed to be. But here I am with a giantFstamped on my forehead.

I pull out my phone and send a text message.

Eve

I’m coming for a visit. I’ll see you soon!

TWO

WHAT AM I DOING?

Eve

After changing my flight—thanks Pax for paying for my ticket. I won’t see you in Knoxville—I stick to my original plan—a drink. Turning off the ignition, I push the car door open. My heels click against the smooth pavement as I hoof it across the parking lot and toward the resort. As I pass by the pool the moonlight ricochets over the rippling water, almost blinding me. What was I thinking sleeping with my boss? My life isn’t a romance book. There is no happy ending. I blow out a deep breath. The clattering of my heels against the hard cement echoes between the buildings.

“Eve! Wait up!”

Pax’s voice grates on my nerves. I glance over my shoulder, and he’s rounding the edge of the far building, jogging toward me. If he thinks I’m stopping, he’s a bigger idiot than I thought. I quicken my pace. Now is a good time to test out my ability to run in heels. Several feet ahead of me, I spot the main bar. Vacationers crowd the entire bar, occupying all the seats. I slip past a few people. Since Pax has spotted me, there’s no way I’m stopping here. I’ll lose him in the crowd. I sidestep through thejungle of people and emerge on the other side. Without looking back, I race down the sidewalk and zigzag between buildings until a smaller bar comes into view. Edison lights swoop over a wood deck as a woman in a white dress twirls around on the dance floor. Crashing a wedding wasn’t on my BINGO card, but I guess I’m stamping a red dot on that tonight.

“Eve!”

My name rolls over the crowd, smacking me upside the head. Peering over my shoulder, I spot Pax hot on my heels. Do I have to drown myself in the Gulf to lose him? I’m seconds away from hurdling the railing and sprinting across the sand. It might be the easiest way to ditch him. I pause, eyeing the railing before my gaze drifts down to my three-inch pumps. Heels and sand don’t mix. I huff. After dodging a few wedding guests and ducking past a few more, I find a stool at the dark end of the bar. I pray the guy in black slacks and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing colorful ink, will shield me. Glancing past the random stranger, I catch sight of Pax. He scans the dance floor and I hold my breath as he spins toward me. I dart my gaze to the left and come to an immediate stop on my bar mate. Dark irises stare back at me in bewilderment as if I were a Pomeranian, wearing a tutu, riding a unicycle.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

His deep voice snaps me back to reality. I drop my gaze to his left hand resting on the bar. There’s not a ring on his finger, and he’s asking to buy me a drink. He must be single. But maybe my judgment isn’t always the best, considering my last situation.

“Eve!” Pax’s voice carries through the crowd.

I need Pax to fall in a hole and for the tide to bury him. I’m done with him and his sleazy ways. My hands slide up the smooth fabric covering the stranger’s thighs. “You’re not married, are you?”

His brows pinch together. “Um. No.”

Relief washes over me. In the softest, smoothest, sexiest voice I can muster, I whisper, “Good. In that case, I’d rather have some of yours.”

The corner of his lips twitch into a smile, and I give him one of my own. This guy has barely said two words to me, yet I find him oddly charming. At this point, I’d find a rat lugging around a slice of pizza charming compared to the dumbass in the crowd who doesn’t get the hint.

“Eve!”

I’ll have to double my efforts to make him jealous. Engulfing the stranger in a hug around his neck, my fingers play with the short hairs on the back of his head, and I fuse my mouth to his. Shifting my weight to the side, I peer around the stranger’s head, and sure enough, Pax’s beady glare is aimed at us. His jaw clenches. Nostrils flare. Fuck you, Pax. A guy who appears to be a security guard steps in front of Pax. Before I know what happens next, a hand on my lower back draws my attention to the man, tugging me closer to him. His bulge presses against the apex of my thighs—and holy shit. Forget one tube sock. He must be using the entire ten-pack in his slacks. I moan into his mouth, and he takes that as his opportunity to swipe his tongue across the seam of my lips. What’s-his-nuts is quickly forgotten, my attention fully on the hot guy with his tongue in my mouth. Our tongues caress each other, soft and erotic. With every stroke, I inch closer to him, needing to feel more of him because it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It’s warm and inviting and turns me on more than it should. My nipples pebble against the fabric of my dress. I break our kiss. My lashes flutter open and I’m met with deep sapphire eyes with shimmers of gray swirling in his irises. I’m drunk on them alone.

“Do you want to get out of here?” My words come out soft and breathy.

“Should we exchange names or something first?”

I lift a brow. I’ve heard my name enough thanks to the douche canoe. “Are names necessary?”

He shrugs. “How will you know what to moan later?”

A soft giggle escapes me. Oddly, I’m intrigued by his cocky charm. “How about this?” I drag the tip of my finger down his chest. “I’ll be Kat,” when I reach the waistband of his slacks, I nibble on my bottom lip, slowly releasing it, “and you can be Patrick.” It’s one of my all-time favorite movies. Plus, he’s giving me Patrick vibes that would make my panties instantly wet—if I was wearing any.

He clears his throat. “Now that’s established, where are we going?”

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