Dear Heart, I Hate You

The warm air from the hotel heaters hit me with welcome relief, and I turned toward my new girlfriends.

“Bar?” I suggested, not ready to call it a night yet.

“Definitely,” Robin from Boston said as the other two women nodded.

Robin was in her forties, had been married forever—her words, not mine—and owned her own real estate company. She was also hilarious, constantly cracking me and the other ladies up when we should have been doing

anything but laughing.

“Nowhere to sit,” Robin said as she nodded toward the circular bar, each seat currently occupied.

Glancing around the crowded space, I spotted a single free table that seated four. I pointed at it and we headed for it before I realized that there were only three chairs.

“You guys sit; I’ll find us an extra chair,” I said, scanning the area.

A group of guys sat at a large table nearby, surrounded by at least three extra empty seats as they pored over some notebooks and chatted with each other, oblivious to the crowd around them.

I walked over to them and pasted on my most charming smile, the one I used to close multi-million-dollar deals. “Hey, do you guys mind if I steal a chair, or are you using all of these?”

When they all looked up at once, I automatically smiled at them each in turn before stopping cold on a pair of attractive hazel eyes. My focus dropped to the man’s lips and I sucked in a breath, completely mesmerized as I struggled to remember why I’d walked over there in the first place.

Chairs. Right. Chairs.

Holy hell, guys should not have lips that full and inviting if they weren’t going to be kissing me all night with them.

The man grinned up at me, revealing even white teeth, and I wanted to hop into his lap and show him how much I appreciated what God had blessed him with. His thick dark hair was cut short and spiked up in all different directions, a casual style that probably took him a while to style, but seemed natural, and I wanted to run my fingers through every single strand.

Instead of admonishing myself for my crazy thoughts about a complete stranger—and boy, were they growing crazier by the second—I went with it, probably a little too eagerly for someone like me. Maybe it was because it had been so long since I’d felt anything at all for a guy.

What harm could a little flirting do? And maybe if I was lucky, I’d find out what those lips felt like on mine before the night was over. It wasn’t like I’d ever see the guy again, so who cared if I spent a few hours seeing what those beauties could do? Heck, my fantasy bank could use the inspiration.

“Help yourself,” Mr. Delicious Lips said, his perfect mouth still smirking at me as his eyes remained focused on mine.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to leave.

Ever.

The idea of chaining myself to his body and throwing away the key crossed my mind. Too soon? Probably, but I was rarely, if ever, this physically attracted toward another human being. It wasn’t like me to fall all over myself for some random guy I’d just locked eyes with.

Sure, I tended to make friends and meet people wherever I went, but not like this. I’d never met someone who made the very idea of walking away from him seem all sorts of wrong, so I refused to do it. I didn’t think my body would have let me even if I’d been able to convince my mind. Which I hadn’t, by the way.

Get a grip, Jules!

My only saving grace would probably be his personality. I’d bet money that once he started talking, I’d find something I didn’t like. That tended to happen more often than not back in LA. When a good-looking guy opened his mouth, it usually ruined everything. So many lacked ambition and had no real work ethic. They relied on their good looks and sculpted bodies to get them ahead, and I was interested in more than just a pretty face. Although you wouldn’t know it by the way I was currently obsessing over this guy’s.

“Maybe I’ll just sit here with you instead,” I joked, unable to break eye contact.

“Please,” he said, pulling out the chair next to him for me. “Sit.”

I promptly sat down and mentally accepted my award as world’s shittiest friend as I ignored my new girlfriends sitting behind us and chatted up the group of guys. My complete focus was on the one sitting to my right, so close, I could almost feel him. If I leaned in a little closer, I could just . . .

“I’m Jules Abbott,” I said, extending my hand.

“Cal Donovan.”

When he took my hand with his in a firm handshake, squeezing way too hard, I jerked it from his grasp, my face pinched in pain.

“Jesus, Cal, I’m a girl. You don’t have to impress me by breaking my hand.” I frowned and shook out my hand as if he’d really hurt it.