Page 3 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

My heart rate spikes, and the sound of it beating whooshes in my ears. Maybe I did hit my head because I swear at that moment, the one with my dream man so close I can kiss him or even lick him if I want, I can answer honestly.

Despite all the physical signs of me feeling otherwise, I reply, “You know. I think it’s time for me to go.”Before the last few minutes really sink in.

My feet are set on solid flooring while his hands remain on the underside of my forearms to steady me. Like the perfect gentleman. “I wish?—”

“Nat,” Tatum says under her breath. She moves in and grabs my hand.

“What?”

Her hair catches the light when she flips it over her shoulder, an exhausted sigh following right after. Every blonde needs a brunette bestie, and Tatum Devreux was destined to be mine since our mothers exchanged silver spoons from Tiffany’s as baby shower gifts. I’m not exactly the calm to her wild ways, but she can out party me any day.

“A party on a yacht down in the harbor. We have to go now, though.”

Panic rises in my chest. I know I should want to hightail it out of here to save myself from further mortification, but I don’t want to go. I’m perfectly content right here.

I’m not shy about it. I look straight at him, but I’m smacked with a dose of candor I wasn’t ready for, my ego crushed under his expression that mirrors pity. Now I regret not making a quick getaway when I had the chance.

My stomach plummets to the floor I was just hovering above. “Yeah, it’s time to go,” I tell Tatum, my hand pressing to my belly in an attempt to keep myself together. My hand is grabbed, and I’m tugged after her as she calls, “Ciao, darlings.”

I turn back to catch Mr . . .Dreamy,Smug,Sexy,Pity-erof Drunk Girlswatching me. I’m left with two options to make an escape without further incident. Icouldblame the craziness on a head injury, or Icouldjust leave. “So . . . thanks,” I say awkwardly as I back toward the door.Yes. Choosing the latter.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice carries over the lively crowd.

I dust the dirt off my ass. “I’m fine. Guess I’m not a tequila girl.”

“You drank rum,” he replies with a lopsided smile that could sweep me off my feet again if I’m not careful.

“Rum. Tequila. Same difference.” I wave off the idea because it doesn’t really matter. “I’m not good with liquor.” That should settle it, but I make the mistake of daring to look into his eyes again. The five feet between us virtually disappears, and mentally, I’m back in his arms again, reading the prose that makes up his features. It would take me days to interpret, capturing not only his thoughts but a history that’s worn in the light lines. He makes it hard to look away.

Stepping forward, he raises his hand and then lowers it to his side again as conflict invades his expression. “You sure you’re okay? You might have a concussion.”

I can’t say I’m not touched by his concern. Grinning, I ask, “Does a concussion involve my heart?”

“What’s happening with your heart?”

“It’s beating like crazy.”

Smiles are exchanged. “I think you’re experiencing something else, but if you’d like me to call an ambulance?—”

“Nope,” Tatum cuts in, yanking me toward the door again, and laughs. “He’s cute, but we don’t want to miss the yacht.” She whips the straw hat off me and tosses it to him.

I twist to look back. “Thanks for the lift.Literally.”

“Anytime,” he says with his eyes set on mine. When he shoves his hands in his pockets, he looks like he’s posing for a Ralph Lauren ad. Tan. Rugged good looks. Tall. Those dreamy eyes and a grin that call me back to him. But life isn’t a dream. It’s time to return to reality.

Goodbye, dream man. It was nice hanging with . . . onto you.

2

Nick Christiansen

Two dayswithout the worries of late-night study groups, working my ass off interning at a law firm, and the constant micromanagement of my dad. At twenty-five, I’ve been ready to break out from under his thumb for a long time now.

He just hasn’t received the memo that I’m not a kid anymore.

A last-minute invitation for a quick getaway before graduation from Stanford Law School and the pressures of my family brought me here. That’s all this was supposed to be. A night of hanging with my best friend, a day of kicking back around the resort pool, and then barhopping to celebrate my final year of school behind me, today should have been much the same.

So, what just happened?

---