Page 1 of The Most Perfect Wrong

Prologue

COOPER

March 11

The Morning After

Fuck.

My head is pounding, eyes heavy. I work to pry them open, one by one.

Where the hell am I, and what is digging into my back?

My vision’s blurry as I look around what appears to be a hotel room.

A heavy breath startles me.Oh, yeah—the hot guy from the bar… Ryan.I turn to look at the mistake from last night. Though at the time, it felt like anything but a mistake.

Last night was fun.

His head is on my pillow, lips slightly parted, dark tousled hair falling over his forehead.Damn, he’s cute.I take a moment to admire him while he’s peacefully sleeping. His scruff is short, and I can almost feel it again—the way it scratched lightly against my skin as he kissed me. Goosebumps prickle my arms just thinking about it. The warmth of those lips, paired with his smile—God, he’s a great kisser.

My gaze drifts lower, taking in his sculpted chest, defined biceps, and those six-pack abs. Images of last night flood my mind, and I can’t help but smile. That body… hovering over mine, his mouth everywhere, the dirty words he whispered.

Heat pulses through me at the memory and I bite my lip, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him—to wake him up with a kiss and let him fuck me again. Our chemistry was insane. The way he moved with me, like he’d studied every inch of my body—knowing exactly what I needed. Fireworks with every kiss—easily the best sex I’ve ever had. No question. I mean, look at him. He’s perfect.

And… if my memory serves me right, he’s also packing the most phenomenal penis. I glance down, lifting the sheet to confirm, peeking at the morning wood that’s been digging into my back. A grin spreads across my face. Yep, just as I remember—big, thick, and glorious.

I rake my eyes up and down his body.Damn, good job with this one, God.

My phone vibrates, interrupting my thoughts. I grimace and reach for it behind me, pleading for it not to wake him.

Sliding out of bed as quietly as possible, I pick my clothes up off the floor and tiptoe to the bathroom. The lights blind me as I flip them on.

I lean against the counter, my head pounding harder as I try to get a grip on my hangover. I had one too many margaritas last night, that’s for damn sure. Splashing cold water on my face, I swallow back the nausea rising in my throat.

I dry my hands and grab my phone, scowling at the screen as a flash of anxiety settles in my chest. My heart begins to race when I see another text from Brad.God, what does he want now?

My fingers tremble slightly as I swipe up.

Brad:Baby, I know I’ve made mistakes, too many to count. But I’m lost without you. I love you. Please, come home.

I sigh, guilt twisting in my chest. But it’s not for what I did—it’s for how I don’t care enough anymore to feel guilty. I’m too numb, and that scares me.

I guess this makes us even… or at least it should, but it doesn’t feel that way—not even close.

I get dressed and walk back into the room, looking for my shoes and purse. I find one shoe by the bed and the other flung under the TV. I slip my shoes on and pick my purse up off the dresser below the television. Ryan’s wallet sits next to it. Curious, I pick it up, feeling the weight of it in my hand while I contemplate opening it up to snoop. Why does it feel wrong? It’s not like I’m stealing from him. I simply want to know more about him.Oh, for hell’s sake, his dick was inside me last night—more than once.I think that warrants me a tiny peek into the man’s life.

Pushing the‘give a fuck’from my mind, I open it.Who are you, Ryan?I rummage through, finding the usual credit cards, cash, a few business cards that aren’t his. I find his driver's license and pull it out, glancing his way as I do—paranoid he’ll wake.Who looks this good in their driver's license photo?I’d do him based solely on this photo…

Oh wait, I already did.

Ryan Brooks—lives in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Damn. I almost let myself hope it would say Chicago.

I slip it back into his wallet, setting it gently on the table. Well, that’s it then. A pang of longing tugs at my heart knowing I’ll never see him again—the kissing, the touching, our conversations. God, he actually wanted to get to know me—a breath of fresh fucking air.

I sigh, maybe in another life. Because if I could pick the perfect guy for me in my next life, I imagine he’d be something like Ryan.

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