Page 3 of Spring Fling

A shot and a glass of Prosecco later, and I’m no longer at risk of crying. But I am in danger of running out of ways to call Kevin a piece of poop. Also, I may be repeating some of my stories about how much he sucks.

We really weren’t seeing each other for that long.

"And another thing," I wipe the remaining crisp bubbles from my lips with the back of my hand. "Did I tell you about the time he thought he was fingering my, you know, but he actually stuck his finger up my?—"

"You told me," Heidi pulls a face. "Are you sure I can’t grab you something to eat?"

"I’m fine." I close my mouth against a hiccup. "I’m not hungry."

It’s a good thing I’m within walking distance of the hotel room that—thank goodness—had a cancellation policy in my favor. I’m not exactly drunk, but I’m probably inching close to the legal limits.

"Fucking Kevin," she says.

"I’ll drink to that," I grumble, raising a glass in a silent toast.

The restaurant’s front door creaks open. I instinctively look toward the door as it opens once again.

I don’t know why I keep doing that. The only people coming and going are happy couples who are all lovey-dovey.

Raising the glass to my lips, I freeze as the most handsome man I’ve ever seen strides inside.

"Oh my…" I lower the glass to fully stare at him. "He’s beautiful."

"I don’t recognize him." Heidi leans across the bar to join my study. "Believe me when I say I’d recognize someone like him. Maybe he’s from the bush like you."

Normally, I’d start an argument about what does and doesn’t qualify as the Alaskan bush. But not now. Right now, I have more important things to contemplate.

Like, how can any man possibly look so good wearing a suit? A suit that clings to his broad shoulders, accentuating his bulging biceps. Either he doesn’t ordinarily live life in a suit or he spends hours in the gym building that bulk.

And his jaw… It’s covered in a beard that accentuates that it’s every bit as rock-hard as the rest of him.

His dark gaze scans the room until it lands on me. I squeeze my thighs together as warmth floods my belly. His lips curve up into a smile that somehow makes him even more handsome. I moisten my lips.

Maybe I’m hungry after all.

I hold my breath as he strides toward me. My heart soars with hope.

And immediately crashes when he says, "Tonya? Is that you?"

TWO

WADE

It’s hard not to stare. And harder still to remember to breathe.

My date is even more beautiful in real life than she was in her photos.

Hell, she isn’t just beautiful—she’s stunning. So gorgeous, I almost don’t recognize her when I enter the restaurant.

Her long brown hair tumbles over her shoulders, catching the light from the open windows. Her smile curves across soft pink lips, and when her bright blue eyes meet mine, I feel the hit low and hard, right in the chest.

She’s wearing a short floral dress, the kind that moves when she shifts, brushing against her thighs. It hugs her curves just enough to tease without being obvious. She’s curvier than her photos hinted at—so much better than the filters and angles could ever show.

You apparently can’t tell much about a person from a dating profile.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” I whisper.

The words slip out before I can stop them.

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