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One of the other guys from the apartment, the blond one who looked like he stepped off a sports magazine cover when he left for practice in the morning, ran a drink up to the front. “Bottom’s up,” he winked.

“Thanks, Gabe.” The lanky one bent over so his lips were almost on the microphone as he raised his borrowed glass in the air. “Happy birthday, Randy.” The microphone buzzed and squeaked as he stepped away.

The blond one—Gabe, apparently—stepped right up after. “Cheers, Mate!” He threw his own drink back, and stepped away from the mic, encouraging the lanky one to do the same with his. He did, his face immediately puckering, and then gave a quick shake of his head as he finally swallowed what was surely some strong, hard liquor.

I leaned against the bar and took a drink of my own. Following them to the bar tonight had been a good idea. I’d just learned two of their names—Gabe and Randy. I also knew that Gabe was apparently British and that it was Randy, Mr. Hot as Fuck’s, birthday.

I eyed the two as they made their way back over to the bar a few feet from where I stood. The same pull tugged in the pit of my stomach when they were all together. I moaned deep as the feeling became overwhelming. There was definitely something about these four. Was I supposed to know them? Was I supposed to fear them? Nothing seemed off. They were four regular guys. Three of them went to college at Salem State while Randy spent most of his time at the gym and a tattoo parlor.

Frustrated, I pulled the straw from my glass and downed the rest of my drink. I was just about to place it back on the bar when a deep, gruff voice said, “I hope that was in my honor.”

My eyes widened, and I almost sputtered. The guy I’d been lusting after since I got here just spoke to me. Holy bananas. Now that he was six inches away, I got to check him out up close. It was easy to get drawn in. He looked sexy as sin wherever he went. He was either dressed for the gym, showing off his sexy as fuck muscles, or sporting tight ass t-shirts on his way to the tattoo parlor he worked at. Tonight was the same tattoo parlor look, jeans that hugged his hips with a black shirt that looked like it was tailor-made just for him. What I hadn’t noticed from watching him with what was usually a street distance between us, was his dark eyes. They were deep brown, teetering on black. A shiver rocked my spine.

Suppressing my inner freak out, I blinked up at him, doing my best to appear interested. Appear? Who was I kidding? I was interested. “Of course,” I answered. “Randy, is it?”

He nodded in assent before taking his time perusing my body. My insides clenched, a more potent feeling than I’d ever had before as his eyes raked all over me. I hadn’t brought much of anything with me from New Orleans, including clothes, since I didn’t know what I would find here. Tonight, I’d just tied off one of my black shirts right above my right hip, showing a little midriff. It was about as “bar appropriate” as I got, even when I was home. Coupled with the tight pair of jeans I’d brought with me, I didn’t look half bad in the small ass motel mirror I’d checked my reflection in before making my way here. I’d followed them to the bar and then decided I had to go back to the room and do a little mini wardrobe makeover before heading in after them and seeing what I could find out. It couldn’t help to be as sexy as I could while trying to feel them out. At least, that’s what I’d thought, and it was working too. Randy was actually standing in front of me, his eyes gliding over my skin as if his only thought was what he could do to me.

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Chapter Ten

What were all these emotions? Why was I clawing at him like I was in heat?

I pushed Rafe away and struggled to my feet. He was right. This was the time to do what we wanted. Life was too short as was evidenced by everything we saw today. Poor Su.

If anything, it made me see more clearly.

Rafe wasn’t for me.

I enjoyed certain parts of him, but not everything. Not enough to want to ally myself with him for all the days of my life. It was time to focus on what made me happy. No one sat there on their deathbed and wished they hadn’t done more of what they loved. They wished they’d done what was appropriate the first time.

It wasn’t Rafe.

His eyes were glued to the ceiling when I finally looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” I said.

What kind of person must I look like right now? All over him one minute, and the next, rejecting his proposal.

What was wrong with me?

“I’m so sorry, Rafe. I shouldn’t have led you on like that. I don’t know what came over me.”

He shook his head, still not meeting my eyes. “Today was an emotional day.”

“Still, I had no right to do that.”

I sat next to him on the bed and after a minute, he mimicked me. Staring straight at the opposite wall where a dark wood desk was flush against the trim with the one lone lamp. “I really am sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that.”

I never wanted to lead any of them on. I didn’t want to kiss them, use them essentially, and then decide I didn’t want them.

Was this what I really wanted then?

I searched my head and found exactly what I thought I would find. I liked Rafe, I just didn’t like him enough.

“I think I got confused in my head,” I said, making a lame excuse, but wanting him to see I wasn’t a terrible person who did things like this. That just wasn’t me.