Page 33 of Like a Boss

“I don’t get it. Why? Surely someone can’t be this cruel?”

When Hannah doesn’t reply, I know that someone can be.

“I feel so stupid,” I sniff, refusing to cry. “He was doing this as some sort of revenge ploy? It was all fake.”

“No, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. There is nothing fake about that.”

But I don’t believe it.

“That’s it!” Hannah stands, tossing the bottle of water across the room. “We’re going out.”

“How about no,” I grumble into the pillow as I bury my face into it.

However, when I hear coat hangers sliding across the railing, I know this isn’t optional.

This is the worse idea—ever.

Being amongst loud music and even louder strangers is not the remedy to cure this ache in my chest.

There’s only one explanation to why I feel like I want to carve out my heart—I’ve fallen for Dylan Fox. I knew he was trouble, but I willingly walked into the fire, prepared to be burned.

Hannah is dancing with some guy, but me, the only thing I’m dancing with is the devil as I throw back my seventh or maybe eighth shot of tequila. I can’t believe I fell for his bullshit. I feel like such an idiot.

I slam the shot glass on the bar and twist my face as the tequila burns my throat.

“Another?”

Turning over my shoulder, I see a man with curly blond hair and piercing blue eyes smiling at me with a slanted grin. He is exactly the opposite of Dylan, which is why I nod.

“I would love one.”

He flags down the bartender, ensuring our shoulders are touching. I like his confidence. “So what happened for you to want to drink the entire bar?”

I laugh, and it’s a nice change from wanting to claw out my brain with an ice cream scoop. “How long you got?”

“For you? I got all the time in the world.”

I smile because, damn, that’s hot. A man who expresses how he feels instead of playing games because he’s a narcissistic asshole.

The bartender places our drinks on the bar, and as I look at this handsome stranger, I throw caution to the wind and bend forward, licking the side of his neck. Before he can ask what I’m doing, I pepper his neck with salt, lick it deliberately slow before throwing back my shot.

His mouth is parted, which allows me to slip the sliver of lime between his lips and eat it from his mouth. I’m impressed as he deftly removes the lime rind in one smooth motion before kissing me deeply.

I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the kiss, but everything spins quickly and I revel in the chaos, until I hear a voice which only heightens the madness.

“Good evening, Ms. Young.”

The way his voice sends my senses into sensory overdrive and the way I’m left breathless, choking on my ragged breathing, all leads to one thing—Mr. Dylan Fox is here. Shitting on my already shitful day.

I make no attempt to stop kissing my surfer dude, however. And only deepen the kiss. And only when I’m content, do I pull away.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” I quip, relishing in a very pissed-off Mr. Fox.

“We’re taking a walk.” He grips my arm, but I yank it from his grasp.

“You can talk a walk,” I rebuke, snuggling into my new beau’s side. “I’m staying right here.”

Dylan runs a hand through his hair which is snarled, unlike him. And when I take in his attire, I see his entire appearance is unkempt—unlike him.

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