Page 6 of The Most Perfect Wrong

If I’m doing this, I’ve got to bring my A-game. It can’t be easy to close a guy like Ryan. He could literally pick any girl here to take back home with him, and they’d all feel like the goddamn chosen one.

Sure, I’m a little out of practice, but I can do this. Ineedthis. I’m tired of feeling like shit. Tired of Brad. Tired of everything. This isn’t about love or connection. I gave up on that a long time ago. I just want to feel good—get out of my head, lose myself in something… someone. Sex is one thing I know I’m good at—it’s easy—it’s all I have to give right now. And Ryan’s already interested—he came to me.

His gaze moves down, lingering just a second too long on my chest. My pulse quickens.Yep, that’s all me, buddy.A smirk tugs at my lips as I see him subtly readjust himself. He obviously likes what he sees. My stomach flutters, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside me. This could be really fun. It’s not even about getting back at Brad, not entirely. It’s about proving to myself that I still have control over something—that I’m still desirable, even if just for one night. I get to choose the narrative. For once, I decide how my story goes.

Chapter 2

RYAN

She’s hotandfunny. It doesn’t get better than that.

I shake my head, chuckling. “Cooper, you just get cuter every fucking minute.”

She buries her face in her hands. “Oh my God! Nothing about this is cute. Between the two of us, we should probably do this bar a favor and just leave.” She grins, laughing, and points a finger back and forth between us. “I mean, this—this is so bad. If you think any of it’s cute, there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“Oh, something’s wrong with me?” I cock a brow, pointing to myself. “You’re the one referencing Bradley Cooper.”

She crumples up a napkin, tossing it at me. “And if you werenormal,you would’ve bailed the second I mentioned him.” She folds her arms, eyeing me down. “And because you didn’t, that means you, my friend, are one of three things.” She stares at me, her dark brown eyes playful.

“Oh, yeah? And what are those?” I take a sip of my drink, amused.

“You’re either crazy,” she says, holding up one finger. “Drunk,” she adds, raising a second. “Or you haven’t gotten laid in averylong time.” She lifts a third finger, eyebrows raised with a smug, knowing look.

My eyes narrow, hoping she can’t see right through me because,God, Ihaven’tbeen laid in such a long time. And, yeah, I’d love to, but that wasn’t the reason I came over. I start to saysomething, but instead, I take another sip, buying myself a few extra seconds to figure out how to play this. I grab my chair and swing it around to the side of the table, bringing me closer—our knees almost touching. “Can’t a guy just wanna talk to a beautiful girl without an ulterior motive?”

She looks at me and scoffs. “I knew it,” she says confidently. “You’re trying to get laid.” She nudges my knee with hers.

I smother a laugh, biting my lip to keep it in. “Oh yeah? And what brings you to that conclusion?”

“It’s like a reverse psychology thing. If you were crazy or drunk, you’d say something to convince me otherwise. But you went with the typical ‘I’m not trying to get laid’ answer.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes, but her smile doesn’t falter. “You men areallthe same.”

Damn, she’s quick-witted, too.

I noticed her on my morning runs—of course I did, she’s hot as hell. But now? Being here, talking to her, she’s not just a hot girl I saw on the beach. She’s a hot girl with a great personality, and I’m having way too much fun. It’s been so damn long since I’ve felt this kind of pull toward someone. It’s like my mind is finally giving my heart the green light to consider… something. Whatever that “something” is.

But fuck, I’m dusty—like an old book that’s been sitting on the shelf for years. This whole thing—the flirting, the chemistry—is waking up a side of me that’s been buried for so damn long. I’m not sure what to even do with it.

I grin. “And what areall us menlike, exactly?”

“Predictable,” she says matter-of-factly. “A little attention, a nice smile, buy us a drink, and you think you’ve got it made.”

I raise an eyebrow, chuckling at her boldness. “And you think I’m like that?”

She tilts her head, a playful challenge in her gaze. “I think you’re like the rest. Charming, confident, and a little too sure of yourself.”

“Sure of myself? Pretty sure I already confessed that I suck at this, remember?”

She raises her brows. “I think you’re better than you realize.”

Her words catch me off guard, and I find myself inching even closer, our knees touching now.

“You single?” I ask, wondering why I didn’t lead with that. I’m in way too deep for her to tell me otherwise.

She shifts in her seat, throwing me a teasing smile. “Are you?”

I hesitate, my thumb rubbing over the empty spot on my ring finger—a habit that’s hard to break. “Yeah,” I say, though the answer feels more complicated than it sounds. Not wanting her to press me further, I steer the conversation in a different direction. “Are you from here?”

“Sort of,” she says. “My dad lives here, so I spent most of my summers and holidays around Newport growing up. I visit a couple of times a year… What about you? Do you live here?”

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