I’m the first to admit I have no business taking another shot.
Especially after the past two.
But what’s a girl to do when a room full of strangers is chanting my name and a particularly wild best friend places the shot hat on my head along with a small glass of liquor in my hand?
I drink.
In a little hole-in-the-wall hidden from the main street in Avalon on Catalina Island, I down the liquid like a champ, then promptly proceed to fall from grace, also known as the barstool.
My eyes close, bracing for impact, except . . . someone catches me just before landing. With my breath caught in my throat, I hang in the balance of arms made of steel and open my eyes.
Laughter fades away with any drunken shame that threatened as I stare into the soulful eyes of a stranger.
“Hi,” whispers the future hero of my dirty dreams . . . oh, wait.
Maybe I’m unconscious? Maybe I was knocked out cold, and I’m dreaming. I blink. Why are my eyes open? Letting my lids fall, I keep them closed long enough to pray, “Please let him be real. If he’s not, I’m begging you to leave me in this dream a little longer.” My lids drift back open to find him still staring at me.
“Are you okay?”
“Perfect,” I reply. I think. I’m not sure if I actually voice the response or not. I feel pretty damn perfect in his arms, though, the response still fitting in any circumstance that involves me, him, and those arms wrapped around my body.
Naked would be nice, but I’ll save that for our second date.
His brow furrows, but a smile curls the corners of his lips.
The fog of alcohol clouds my mind, creating a heavy blanket on my brain. Regardless, I try to calculate the odds of a ridiculously sexy stranger—the exact man I’d craft if Create-a-Hottie was an actual thing—being in the right place at the right time to catch me if I fell.
It’s impossible, so the only logical answer to this conundrum is that either he is the best college graduation gift ever or I’m dreaming. “How are you so hot?” I ask, worried he’ll disappear in a puff of smoke and mirrors. Clamping my eyes closed again, I whisper, “Dear Lord, please don’t let him be a mirage.”
“I’m real.” Yes!
Does that mean my friend set up this encounter for me? She’s always been a great gift giver. It is our job, after all. I squint one eye open, biting my bottom lip. “Mm, so real,” I purr. Too perfect to be real, though. I must be dreaming.
His grin creates dimples that could compete with the Grand Canyon. How did I know I liked dimples enough to add them into this delirium? I don’t know, but score one for me.
“I think you’re going to be okay,” my dream man says, his voice as delectable as his face.
Wait, what? No. “As for me being okay, not so fast, buddy. No need to rush toward the waking hours. Anyway . . .” I drape my hand across my forehead. “Dream or real, I’m going to need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”
His dimples dig deeper. “Is that so?”
“So right,” I pant.
“Do you think I should call a paramedic?”
“That’s a little kinky for me, but if you’re into it . . .” I press my lips into a pretty little pout to seriously consider this twist. “Nah. Changed my mind. I only want you. Just the two of us resuscitating each other.”
“You want me?” he asks, surprise tingeing his tone as he cocks an eyebrow. He readjusts me in his strong, manly arms. “Circling back to the real part, you do realize you’re not dreaming, right?”
I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, wanting to melt in his arms again. Totally obsessed with how I fit so perfectly, I pull him closer and hold tight. “You do realize you’re stupidly attractive, right?”
He chuckles, his grin lifting higher on one side.
That smirk would totally get me into bed, given what it’s doing to me while dreaming. I close my eyes again. “I’m ready.”
“For what?” His deep, dulcet tones vibrate through my body.
“Resuscitation. I’m ready. Resuscitate away.”
When nothing happens, I peek one eye open. He’s still staring at me with the smirk I’m ready to kiss off his sexy face, and whispers, “I don’t think you need me—”
“Trust me.” Opening both eyes, I also run my fingers through his shiny, chestnut-hued hair, taking in the feel of the