Page 9

“Listen, beautiful, if you don’t have someone to kiss at midnight, I’m your man.” He copped another feel of her ass.

Hell, no. The longer they danced, the more he gave her the heebies.

She dragged his hand up to her waist again. “What makes you think I kiss strangers whose names rhyme with fuck?”

“Why should I think you don’t? Jase said you were good in high school.”

Haisley rolled her eyes. Jase Simmons—douchebag extraordinaire. He’d been a lying, using, trash-talking asshole back then. He’d been famous for telling a girl what she needed to hear to drop her panties, only to ignore her the next day while he told all his buddies on the football team that he’d had sex with her, subjecting her to the leers of his teammates for weeks. Adulthood hadn’t changed him. It probably hadn’t changed his caliber of friends, either.

“Because I don’t kiss random guys, even on New Year’s Eve. If you’re looking to get lucky tonight, you chose the wrong girl.”

The last thing she needed was romantic entanglement, especially with another player. If she wanted that, she’d take up with Nash again. But she had too much on her plate, between settling the last of her aunt’s affairs, making the house hers, and starting her new social media director gig after the holiday.

“You’re turning me down before I even ask?” he chided.

“I’m setting expectations. If you’re getting laid tonight, it won’t be by me.”

Thankfully, the song—and their dance—was mercifully nearing the end. A glance around the room told her that the clock would strike midnight in less than five minutes, and Nash was polishing off another round of tequila shots.

Suddenly, Haisley wished she was anywhere else. At least if she were home, she’d be curled up with a decent book and her cat. When the new year started, she’d be stuck here in a crowd…yet still feel utterly alone. Not that her posse wouldn’t try to cheer her up. They would, and they would mean well. She loved her girls. But now that she’d seen Nash, she didn’t feel much like celebrating because her heart still felt broken.

She’d been kidding herself otherwise.

Rhymes-with-fuck stopped dancing and stepped away before the song ended. “If you’re going to be a cunt, we don’t have much to say.”

Since he didn’t mean anything to her, Haisley could care less that he’d called her something vile. “We havenothingto say. Buh-bye.”

As he stomped off, she headed toward the bar where Matt and Madison were supposed to be watching her drink…but they only had eyes for each other. It was fine. She was partied out anyway. She should have stayed home with her feline, her eBook smut, and her fellow online sleuths in the Crime Solvers International group, cheekily known as CSI.

Out of her peripheral vision, she caught sight of movement from Nash’s corner of the bar. She flicked a glance in his direction. When he pinned her with a hot gaze, her heart skipped.

Biting back a gasp, Haisley broke their connection and jerked back to focus on her friends. But his stare was still on her. She felt his visual touch through her whole body.

Emotion clogged her throat. Why couldn’t she get this man out of her system? And why couldn’t she stop herself from turning back to look his way?

Instantly, their gazes melded. The music and the loud chatter faded away. Even her friends dissolved into the background.

Suddenly, determination stamped across his rugged face. Her pulse leapt. Time froze. Oh, god. What was he going to do? She had no idea what he had in mind as he started toward her…

* * *

Around Nash, people collectively turned to look at the flat screens around the bar where the typical New Year’s Eve broadcast from Times Square had entered the last sixty seconds of its countdown. As this year ended and another began, he realized one thing: he’d spent this entire fucking year without Haisley under him. Most of the last, too. He’d be goddamned if he spent next year without her.

Blindly, he reached for the beer his brother had ordered him a while back. It was lukewarm, and he didn’t care. He chugged the whole thing down and slammed the bottle on the table. Unfortunately, imbibing too much had only proven that no amount of booze was going to take his mind off Haisley.

Thank fuck the tool she’d been dancing with backed off. He’d looked angry, too. Nash suspected his sassy, sexy girl had told the motherfucker to get lost, and good for her.

Good for him, too. Now he didn’t have to break the asshole’s arms.

He knew precisely who he wanted to kiss at midnight, and he didn’t give a goddamn that they hadn’t had a conversation in two years or that everything between them was in shambles.

He. Wanted. Her.

A surge of reckless determination coursed through his veins. Given the way she was focused on him as he crossed the bar, heading straight for her, he didn’t think his desire was one-sided.

“Haisley,” he boomed.

She didn’t move. Others did, jumping out of his path. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. He ignored the whispers and the gawking. In that moment, absolutely nothing mattered but reaching her.