Page 1 of Ring Me

Chapter 1

The Agreement

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I NEEDED A SHOT OFwhiskey.

Something to burn my tongue and toast my blood, taking the edge off of the insane thing I planned to do tonight. But the bartender wouldn't fucking budge.

“Sorry,” he said, giving me an apathetic shrug. “No license, no drink. That's the law.”

“Do I look like I'm under 21?” I asked, sliding a hand over my face to pull my thick red hair out of my eyes.

He scanned the pink and blue skater dress I had on. “Hon, you could be 14 for all I know.”

I regretted the clothing. I'd picked it intentionally—I'd wanted to look cute and spunky. Clutching the ankle-length wool jacket I'd worn over the dress to hide it from my co-workers, I felt my face go hot. “Give me a break! I'm 25, not some teenager.” Fishing out a 20 from my purse, I slapped it onto the bar. “One shot of Woodford Reserve. I'm dying here. Do you want me to die?”

“If your condition is that dire, take a minute to go grab your ID.”

“I can't. I lost it on the way here.”

“That's a shame.”

Narrowing my eyes, I braced my palms on the bar, leaning closer to the older man. He had a length of beard covering his chin, giving him the illusion of a thicker jaw than he truly had. I knew men like him—all puffed up, faking their confidence. He wasn't a true alpha. Not even close. “Do you get off on this?” I asked. “Does telling me no make you feel like a big man?”

The corner of his mouth tugged into a sneer. “Most girls try to butter me up to get what they want.”

I held his gaze. “And that works?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Glad I didn't waste my time, then.” Sighing loudly, I dropped back onto my stool, holding the twenty up between us. “You really won't sell me one little shot?”

“Not a shot. Not a dribble. Nothing without some ID.”

“Well, dammit.” Tucking the money away, I set my forehead in my hands, elbows propped on the cool bar top. “Maybe this is a sign.”

“Of what?” he asked.

“Forget it.” Shaking my head until I felt dizzy, I tried to work the burning thoughts from my skull. You can't go through with this without a drink. Or five drinks. You're not brave enough, Maya. You know it. I'd barely managed to bolster myself into getting in a taxi cab and taking the trip to this part of the city—a section I was sure no one would recognize me in.

But meeting a stranger... with no alcohol to give me liquid courage... I was a chicken.

I had to bail.

And I had to do it before it was too late.

Hooking my purse onto my shoulder, I spun, hopping off the stool. My feet touched the floor just as the door swung open. One look at the face of the man who swayed into the room set my heart thumping. Not just because he was handsome—and he damn sure was—but because he was the person I'd hoped to slip away from.

His winter-lake-blue eyes locked onto me. There was no question; he recognized me from the photos I'd sent. I didn't know it was possible for people to look better in real life than in their pictures.

Broad shoulders made me think he'd need to turn sideways to get through the doorway. The neck hole of his beige shirt was wide enough to give me a glimpse of his delicious collar bone, and a hint of some midnight black tattoos. They glistened on his tan skin.

His heavy boots trailed across the floor. His eyes never wandered from my face. I watched him approach, frozen on the spot, wishing I'd run while thanking fate that I hadn't.

“Cherry?” he asked with an amused smile. I blushed at the name I used on the RingMe app. I'd thought it was cute, but hearing it out loud made me feel ridiculous.

I cleared my throat. “That must make you Conner.”

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