Chapter 1: A False Start: Chapter 1

Tommy Koss is a terrible kisser.

He’s mashing his lips into mine with zero finesse, and I wonder if a girl has ever taken the opportunity to tell him how utterly awful he is at this.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he murmurs between messy, slobbery kisses.

“So are you,” I whisper back, arms slung loosely over his shoulders, rolling my eyes and wishing I could shut this running monologue off and just enjoy myself. His tongue tastes like cheap beer, and he’s pawing at my breasts like a bear mauling a tree. The taste of alcohol in my mouth is an instant turnoff. A relentless reminder.

I had it in my head that making out with Tommy might make me feel something. It might be the cherry on top of an unusually wonderful day. Turns out, I only feel repulsed.

His hands glide up under my tight tank top as he steps between my legs where I sit on the vanity in the men’s bathroom. It smells like urinal pucks and whatever cheap body spray Tommy is wearing. I’m not so sure the scents are very different.

He yanks one of the slim straps of my tank top down and moves his lips to my chest. My head tips back, resting against the splattered mirror, and I stare up at the ceiling. The water stains on the foam panels are so old they’ve turned a rusty brown color. Tommy’s elbow bumps the hand dryer, and a loud blowing noise fills the small room.

My lips tip up in amusement, and I stifle a laugh. If this weren’t so sad, it would be hilarious. At nineteen years old, making out with boys in the bathroom of shitty bars is supposed to be fun. Nineteen is when you’re allowed to hit the bars in British Columbia. Going out is supposed to feel like living. But legal ages have never stopped me. It used to make me feel rebellious and excited. Now I just feel numb and bored. This idea that I’m missing something and hoping I might find it near some guy’s tonsils is getting old.

Chalk it up to daddy issues, I guess.

My brother thinks I’m a wild card—reckless. Possibly even promiscuous. And I am, but what he doesn’t understand is that I’m looking for something.

I’m just not sure what yet.

Tommy is about to pull my breast out over the top of my neckline. He’s fumbling with it when the bathroom door swings open. I glance over at who walked in, but all I catch is a flash of dark eyes beneath the brim of a cap and a bearded jawline before the guy turns his back and makes use of the urinal like we’re not even here.

My lips part in a mixture of shock and glee, and Tommy gives me this sweet, boyish expression before shrugging and grabbing the nape of my neck, pulling me in for more unskilled face-sucking. I should tell him to stop, but my body isn’t attuned to him. For a few moments, I keep my eyes open, but I’m not looking at Tommy. Every ounce of my awareness is on the man taking a piss. The confidence. The sheer gall.

I’m honestly impressed.

I let my lashes flutter shut and pretend I’m kissing someone else.

The sound of a zipper closing draws me away from the wet smacking noises Tommy is making. And then the deep gravel of the stranger’s voice makes me pause entirely. “Move.”

The boy with his lips on mine pulls away and looks into the eyes of the man beside him. “My dude, just use the other sink. There are two.”

The man’s features are shadowed beneath the low-slung brim of his worn cap. Dense brows and deep-set eyes top off a strong nose. But mostly, he’s too obscured beneath the brim of that for me to really make him out. Like he’s hiding in plain sight.

The white mesh covering neatly trimmed brown hair has a faded brown panel at the front and the outline of a cowboy on a bucking horse. I lean in closer, inextricably drawn to the man, trying to make out the writing just beneath it.

Someone only wears a hat into that state if it’s special to them. And I want to know more about what’s special to a man like this. One that can take up all the space in a room without even trying.

“Go!” he barks, and I startle.

Raised voices always do that to me. I freeze, fire licking up my throat. I when anyone takes that kind of tone with me. All it does is make me combative.

Tommy just scoffs, totally oblivious to the steel in the man’s voice, behaving like a boy who has seen nothing bad in his life and has no concept of the consequences. “Whatever, man. Let’s go, Nadia,” he says, moving toward the door without a backward glance. He doesn’t stop and wait for me. He doesn’t hold the door open for me. He just assumes I’ll follow him back out into the bar where all our mutual acquaintances are waiting, where the other girls who I barely know will glare at me with envy in their eyes like Tommy is some great catch.

If they’d ever kissed him, they’d know the glares aren’t necessary.

I don’t follow. I sigh and lean back against the mirror, facing off with the mysterious stranger. The one glaring at me. I’ve always promised myself I won’t respond when a man uses that voice on me, when they try to intimidate me, and today is no exception.

You’re going to bark at me? I’ll bite you back.

I give the man my best resting bitch face before peering down at my nails with disinterest. “I’m not well-trained like that, so you really are going to have to use the other sink.”

I gesture across the vanity, and he glares at me, irritation rolling off him in waves. The only part of him that moves is his broad chest as he breathes heavily and stares me down.

“And if you’re going to talk to me like that again, I suggest you cup your boys to soften the blow.”

He shakes his head and steps over to the other sink, flicking the tap, agitation lining every movement. A breath rattles past my lips, and the tension in the room begins to dissipate.

“I know. This is the men’s room. I shouldn’t be in here. Yadda, yadda, yadda. But you just pulled your dick out and took a leak without a second thought, so it’s kind of hard to believe you’re averse to washing your hands in front of me.”

He says nothing. Just pumps a few gelatinous blobs of pink soap into his wide, calloused palm. He looks older. He must be. The confidence, the thin lines highlighting the tense set of his eyes, the whole brooding act.

“You know,” I continue, completely unprompted, just prattling on now, “I should thank you. That guy is the worst kisser. All teeth and saliva.” I shudder dramatically as a small giggle escapes me, and I trace a finger over my puffy, ravaged lips while staring for too long into one of the pot lights above me. “Like, really bad.”

Bright spots dance across my vision and the quiet stranger just grunts, white t-shirt stretching across his thick chest, and then says, “Why?”

“Why what?” I ask, leaning in again, trying to get a view of his face. To make heads or tails of what this guy actually looks like. His light wash jeans hug his ass, and his thighs fill them out just right, not too thick. His waist is trim, and a sea of intricate black tattoos that I could spend hours deciphering cover his arms.

His eyes flit to mine as he rinses his hands methodically. He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs heavily in his throat. “Do that with him.”

“Kiss him?” My head quirks, and he nods, stepping closer as his long arms reach across my lap to use the hand dryer. The loud, whooshing sound fills the bathroom again, substantially less funny this time around.

I watch the way his hands fold over each other under the warm air, the odd droplet of water landing on my bare thigh just beneath the hemline of my jean skirt. When the dryer stops, he turns to me, and the weight of his gaze winds me. I suck air in through my nose, my shoulders coming up high as I do.

“I wanted to celebrate tonight. Found out I got into school today. I’m finally doing something for myself. I guess I just wanted to feel good for a bit.”

He stares wordlessly, so I fill the space with words instead.

“Today I found out they accepted me into the program I applied for months ago. I’m going to be a veterinary technician. It’s the first thing I can say I’ve ever really wanted to do entirely for myself. I was so nervous about applying that I haven’t even told anyone I did—let alone that I got in. Not even my boss, who should probably know because she’s going to need to hire a new receptionist by the time September rolls around.”

The man hits the dryer again, as though to drown out my rambling. The warm air envelops my thighs, and I can almost imagine him palming them instead. To distract myself, I keep talking, hands gesturing animatedly.

“So, I’m supposed to be celebrating my accomplishment tonight. Having . And if nothing else, Tommy has always been fun. Easy. A nice enough guy—if a terrible kisser. Best of all, he doesn’t want any sort of commitment. Which is perfect because I don’t have any commitment to give.”

The dryer stops and lights glint off the deep brown irises that trace my face now, his nose wrinkling as he turns my words over in his head. This nameless man is studying me like I’m nuts.

A nervous laugh spills out over my lips before I lick them.

“I don’t know why I just told you all that.”

His face is impassive, but he lifts one hand, hooking a finger through the strap of my tank top that is still pushed off my shoulder, making me feel just as disheveled as I must appear. But rather than pulling it down further, like I hoped he might, he slides it up and places it back over my shoulder, the first knuckle of his pointer finger dragging across my collarbone.

My breath catches at the contact, goosebumps racing out in its wake, the man’s dark mahogany eyes fixed on where he touched me.

“Kiss me.” I blurt the words out before I even think about them. His gaze snaps up, searing into mine. “A congratulatory kiss. A real kiss.”

I swear I can see him thinking, weighing his options. Anyone could walk in at any instant.

“Why?” Suspicion taints his gaze.

I shrug. “Why not? Two perfect strangers who will never see each other again. What have you got to lose?”

He continues to stare at me for a beat, and I watch some of that wariness melt away. Within moments, his hand comes up underneath my jaw, his thumb pressing gently into the cleft of my chin as he pulls me to him, and like a moth to a flame, I go.

Up close, I get a glimpse of how ruggedly handsome he is. He turns his head to allow for the brim of his hat, giving me the perfect view of his stern face. This is a man who knows what he’s doing. Knows exactly how to tilt his head, how to angle mine.

His face descends, and when his lips land against my own, I swear the world stands still. He smells like laundry soap and freshly fallen pine needles. His lips move with precision, with a longing I’ve never felt. And his mouth tastes like cinnamon.

I lean closer and sigh into the kiss, letting my palms press against his chiseled chest where the thumping of his racing heart beats against them. I find myself wishing he’d hold something more than just my chin. Wanting his calloused hands on me the way Tommy’s smooth ones were minutes ago. I already know it would be better. This is the universe’s cruel version of a side-by-side taste test.

And I already know who the winner is.

His mouth is firm, and I open for him, softening and surrendering as his tongue dances against the seam of my lips. His teeth don’t clash against mine. His beard prickles at my skin, a sensation that sizzles over every nerve ending. I push closer to him. The unyielding pressure of denim sliding up my thighs makes me ache as he comes to stand between them. And when his hips press into the cradle of mine, I shiver.

I melt.

This kiss is like a dance with a man who knows how to lead, rather than one who keeps stepping on my feet. It’s effortless, and I want it to go all night.

But it doesn’t.

He pulls away slowly, eyes raking over me, an almost confused expression on his face. My breathing is labored as I gaze up into his eyes, trying to figure out what’s going on in here—in a dirty bar bathroom with a perfect stranger.

I want him to do it again.

Instead, he lifts his thumb and rubs it down over my slack bottom lip, sending a zing of arousal right between my legs. There’s something possessive about the act. It’s a filthy secret in a grungy restroom. It makes me want to follow him out of here and spend the night unraveling the mystery.

But his hands fall limp at his side, and he steps away, leaving me cold without his body heat. “Congratulations, Wildflower.” His voice is so deep and so low that I almost don’t hear it as he turns toward the door.

My eyes bounce back and forth between the blades of his shoulders, the ones straining against the fabric of his simple t-shirt. The expanse between them held taut.

“Again.” I sound breathless, bordering on desperate. This can’t be it for the dark stranger and me. Not when he just scorched the small bit of earth I’m standing on. Not when I feel like I might have just found He doesn’t turn around as he wraps one big hand around the door handle. He doesn’t need to look at me to embarrass me, to make me feel small the way that most men in my life have. He only needs a few quiet, well-placed words.

“Once is an accident. Twice is a mistake.”