Halftime Husband -Erin McCarthy Page 0,1

have fun, I wanted to let the red dress have another night to shine. I wasn’t breaking down doors looking for love. If love wanted to find me, it could slap me in the face to get my attention, but I wasn’t chasing love’s temperamental ass.

“I look like I’m trying too hard to impress and you look like a woman in a perfume commercial. Any second you should stroll down that staircase and then dive into a pool.” Elijah adjusted his pocket square and gave a long-suffering sigh.

“If there was a pool at the bottom, trust me, I would.” I wasn’t even kidding. Now that would be a party entrance. I eyed the stairs as I handed my coat to the attendant and took the ticket she gave me.

Five steps down, maybe six. A curved banister. Oh, yeah, that was happening.

I lifted the bottom of my dress with one hand, and gripped the railing with the other. I hopped up onto the banister, settling into a stable position.

“What are you doing?” Elijah’s voice rose in alarm. “Dakota, no, please. That is both tacky as hell and dangerous.”

I grinned. “I like how tacky was your first thought and dangerous was your second.”

Feeling the vibe Elijah had mocked for my dress, I pictured walking as slow as humanly possible down the stairs, imagining myself as Charlize Theron in a commercial. The world was my runway. If no man was going to sweep me off my feet, then I would be my own love story. If I knew French, I would be speaking it in my head. J’adore.

Nope. Not my style.

Banister sliding was more me.

“Seriously, don’t. I’m begging you.”

I did.

It was an amazing run. Very freeing. I got great speed, and even managed to put a hand on my hip in a social media-worthy pose. Perfect execution.

Until the very bottom.

The plan had a flaw.

I hadn’t counted on someone being right at the bottom of the railing, pressed against it, holding a drink.

There was no way to stop myself. I tried, attempting to jump off the railing, but my timing was off. I was going too fast, and before I could maneuver, I just plowed into the back of him. As if he had sensed movement behind him, he turned exactly at the moment of collision. My center of gravity was off and I was falling head down.

I took an elbow to the chin.

And a martini in the face.

Vodka went into my mouth. Not bad.

Vodka went up my nose. Not great.

Vodka went in my eye. That freaking sucked. “Ow!”

I grabbed the guy around the midsection and tried to find my feet. My eyes were closed against the blinding, stinging liquid. Damn it. It was a dirty martini. Olive juice on top of vodka really was a bad combination. In my eye, anyway. I licked it off my lips.

“Are you okay?”

I couldn’t see shit, eyes watering viciously and still primarily closed, but I managed to right myself to a standing position. “I think so.”

Except for the fact that a giant manhand was on my face, attempting to wipe away the spilled drink. It almost made me lose my balance all over again.

I took a step back to escape the swiping.

“Dakota?”

The man knew my name. Thank God. That would be way less embarrassing than running into a total stranger. Unless it was the landlord because I owed him two hundred bucks. I wasn’t sure I was ever going to know because my eyes were still stinging and I had zero visibility. But I used my knuckle and dried my tears.

My words died when I realized who this guy was.

It was him.

Brandon.

The man who had helped me escape my surprise wedding and taken me ice-skating at Rockefeller Center.

Standing there in a navy button-up shirt over tight black jeans that showed off his muscular build. Looking big and broad and sexy as hell. His eyes were wide in recognition.

“Dakota,” he murmured again, this time without question.

His tone was so pleased, so sensual, so intimate, like we had shared something more than one hot kiss under the mistletoe, that I nearly had an orgasm listening to him.

“It’s you,” I said, because I’ve always wanted to say that. They do it in movies all the time, and never, ever, in real life is there an opportunity to say something as dramatic as “it’s you.” But this was my chance and I took it.

I had been absolutely sure I would never see this man again and yet, here he was standing