Fuck Jayson. I can be perfectly spontaneous, thank you very much. Even if I don't count my spontaneous bout of arson earlier - and I'd rather not - I'm not the complete shut-in bookworm he seems to think I am.
Please, I've got it. I can be spontaneous, and fun, and wild, and-
And that's when I look up and see him just as he steps into the bar.
I'd say he's gorgeous, but gorgeous doesn't quite cover it. Gorgeous makes him sound pretty or primped to perfection, and he's neither of those things.
The man is dark and brooding, like a storm cloud rolling onto a shore. He's tall and broad-shouldered, and even though the lighting is terrible in this place, I can still see how dark his hair and his eyes are. The dim light of the place only accentuates the deep shadows across his face - the strong, chiseled jaw, the hollows of his cheeks, the way his brow furrows as he scans the room.
He's across the bar, and when he suddenly looks up, the light catches something fierce and something piercing in his eyes. And mine are hooked on him. My eyes can't seem to look away as they drink in the storm clouds of his face, the lightning in his eyes.
Those utterly perfect lips.
The tattoo ink on his neck, peeking out of the collar of his tight black t-shirt and leather jacket.
My gut clenches and my throat tightens, and I quickly bring the beer to my lips and swallow. My eyes are wide, following him as he effortlessly pushes his way through the crowd.
The man has bad decisions and wonderful regrets written all over his hardened, beautifully grim face.
And something ignites inside of me.
I reach for the shot in front of me and slam it back, feeling the room spin and lurch as I stumble from the bar stool.
Fuck it.
Fuck this place, fuck this night, and fuck Jayson and Max and fuck not being spontaneous enough.
I lurch through the crowd, realizing people are looking at me funny, realizing I'm sure I look as drunk as I feel but not really caring. I push past the final people between us, and then he's right in front of me, his head turned as if looking at something in the back of the room.
My heart skips a beat, but I force myself onward. I stagger up to him and grab his leather jacket. He bristles as he whips his head down to look at me, leveling those piercing, haunting dark eyes at mine.
"Uh, hey," I say it coyly. Or at least, I hope I say it coyly. I hope it doesn't actually sound as completely stupid to him as it sounds to me as it leaves my mouth.
His eyes narrow at me. He says nothing.
Fuck he's tall. Tall and big. Broad chest, broad shoulders, biceps bulging under the sleeves of his jacket.
I swallow.
This was a mistake.
No, it wasn't.
"Yes?" he growls quietly, his thick baritone voice like gravel in my ears.
Fuck that's hot.
I don't know why I think it, and this isn't remotely the kind of man I go for. I go for guys who imitate guys like this - guys who buy their leather jackets at expensive brand name stores, who get meaningless tattoos just to make them look tougher.
This man is the real deal.
He's dangerous looking and criminally attractive in a way that sets off warning bells. Warning bells that I blatantly ignore.
"Um-"
I'm not actually sure what the plan was, beyond storming my way over here like I had a purpose. But then, that's the point, right? To be spontaneous?
The point, there is no plan, not anymore. Because I'm saying no to plans.
And I'm saying yes to crazy, stupid ideas. Ideas like getting drunk and burning my ex-boyfriend's garage down. Or, say, stalking up to random hot guys in bars and kissing them.
Which is exactly what I do next.
He freezes as I yank him down by the t-shirt and mash my lips to his. Freezes, that is, before he comes alive.
I gasp as he responds, his arms slipping around me and pulling me tight to that hard, firm body. My head spins as his perfect, soft lips part, and he growls as his tongue seeks mine hungrily. His stubble tickles my lip, and I find myself opening my mouth for him as he demands entrance.
Holy. Shit.
The crowds disappear, all the bullshit fades away, and the floor drops out beneath me.
It feels like I'm free falling - like I'm not even touching the ground there in his arms as my tongue eagerly seeks his. His hands are strong, one cupping the small of my back and the other firmly on my jaw. And my crazy kiss - my insane and my booze-fueled mistake ends up being the hottest, most toe-curling kiss I've ever had in my life.
And just as fast as I yanked him to my lips, he pulls away, leaving me gasping, my lips still moving as if missing his kiss. I open my eyes, cheeks flushed, and I see him smirk.
"I-"
And I'm completely out of the trance, completely out of my element, and completely at a loss of what to say next. Instead, I turn, and without another crazy word or insane action, I make a beeline for the bathroom.
I catch my breath by the sink, panting and running cold water over my hands.
I'm drunk.
I'm too drunk actually.
I cup my hand beneath the faucet, bringing the water to my lips and swishing it around before spitting it out. It tastes terrible, like old copper pipes.
I yank my phone out of my purse, squinting with one eye shut as I swipe it open and thumb my contacts.
I should call one of my sisters.
Well, except almost everyone's gone - off on vacation together. My parents, my sister Ivy and her husband Silas, both my brothers and their respective significant others - Kyle with his fiancée Vivian, and Rowan and his wife, Eva. Everyone's at the Grand freaking Canyon, like some fucking Chevy Chase movie.
Stella, my oldest sister, is still around, but I can't bother her with this shit. Actually, I haven't been able to bother anyone with this shit, which is why I'm in this free fall. I've spent two months in a tailspin, panicking about my choices in life, and where I'm going, and wasting my time with Jayson and my bizarre new hobby of Pinterest boarding vacation spots - both of them just time-fillers.
But this is rock bottom.
I mean, I just set a garage on fire.
I laugh out loud, still too drunk to be that embarrassed when a girl comes out of one of the stalls and gives me a strange look. I start to type out a message to Stella but I stop.
She doesn't need to hear my sob story. I mean, Stella's the one that dropped out of college and had the kid young, all that shit. I'm the one that stuck to it, made the right choices, picked the right classes, got the right grades, the right friends, the right college, and then the right graduate school. Hell, I still go home on weekends sometimes to have dinner with my parents.
So, there's a reason Stella's always saying I'm the "together" one. Hell, everyone says that which is probably half the problem.
But with all the "right choices", I've got nothing to show for it. Nothing except the anxiety of it all weighing me down, the frozen indecision, and the therapist I haven't called back in two months while I've been basically avoiding classes.
I put the phone away, my shoulders slumping.
I should go.
Outside the bathroom, the crowd starts to go nuts, and I cringe as I hear the guitars start to blare.
Shit.
I'm trying not to think about the fact that starting that fire tonight was a crime - like a serious one, I think.
I open the bathroom door a crack and glance out, seeing the tattooed hipsters cheering and jumping around to Jayson and his band's shitty music. I duck out, but instead of heading back into the bar, I veer down the dark hallway to my left.
No way am I leaving through the bar. I can't face that music -pun unintended.
Instead, I grip the wall with one hand, stumbling on my heels as I slip down the hallway, figuring there has to be a back door.
I try one that's locked, past another that says men's room. I jump out of the way as a bearded guy wearing a Red Sox t-shirt jerks the door open, looking at me quizzically as I whirl and stumble further down the hallway.
I round the corner and spot the final door.
This has to be it.
The walls spin slightly as I stumble down the dark hallway, my stomach churning. I'm getting the hell out of here, getting in a cab, and going home. I'm done with the screaming, and the drinking, and the setting fires, and the kissing gorgeous, dangerously sexy strangers in shitty bars.
Tomorrow, I'll figure out what the hell I'm going to do with the tornado I've just let loose on my life.
I grip the doorknob and twist, sighing with relief as it turns.
Thank God.
I push the hair out of my face as I slam it open, and rush out into the-
Not outside.
I stumble through the door, just in time to see the man across the room double over, his shirt suddenly blooming red.
This is all wrong.
My heart catches, my eyes dart around the room, and my blood freezes.
And then everything happens in slow motion.
The man across the room from me falls, and I turn my head to see two other dangerous looking men staring right at me before they turn and start to run out of a side door.
There's a popping sound, and one of them splays out in slow motion against the wall, blood spattering over a stack of cardboard boxes.
The room spins.
My stomach heaves, I whirl-
And I catch those eyes.
His eyes.
My stranger.
The man I kissed.
The man whose lips I lost myself in.
The one who's holding a gun - the same gun he's just used to shoot the man running from the room.
My voice catches, and suddenly, he's striding towards me, and this time, it's not sexy dangerous, it's just fucking terrifying.
"No! Please! I-"
Those powerful arms go around me again, but I'm not falling into him this time. I'm not losing myself in those eyes and opening my lips for his tongue this time.