[1]

There were so many things I could say about Liam; He had a perfect jawline, brown hair, deep blue eyes, a pointed nose, and a body sculpted to perfection from all those hours at the gym. If you didn't know him like I did, you'd think he was mean. But I knew better. He just had this dangerous exterior.

At the same time, he was cute. He was the man I loved. Liam was sweet enough to show up at my doorstep every Saturday with a bouquet of roses to ask me to dinner. In fact, up until this moment, I'd been so sure I'd end up with him.

That was probably the reason why I couldn't believe he was the one passionately kissing a woman that wasn't me. My sweet Liam was cheating on me, and I had a front-row seat to view the entire show.

When he lifted the red-head, and she wrapped her legs around him, never breaking the kiss, my grip on the shot glass I was holding tightened. The room filled with drunk, gyrating people, suddenly felt too small.

Only when someone bumped into me, and the shot glass fell from my hand to the floor, shattering with a crash, did the couple spring away from each other. I held back a snort when the woman almost lost her footing in the process.

Liam's eyes went wide as saucers on spotting me, his jaw hitting the floor of the jazz club. I frowned and shifted my gaze to his partner, who was staring at Liam with a confused expression.

She was pretty; I'd give her that. Even though her lips were swollen and her hair looked like an animal had attacked her. She looked like a model and nothing like me.

The thought that Liam played her crossed my mind, but I shoved it away. I didn't care if she didn't know Liam was taken. She wasn't my problem. Liam was.

I used to love him. Now, I just wanted to stab his liver or something. For all the times he'd made me feel like he was the perfect boyfriend. For all the times he'd held me the same way he'd held the redhead while I watched.

I threw up in my mind.

"No. Camsy, it's not what it looks like," Liam said. "We were just-"

"-You were just nothing." Although I willed my voice to come out low and controlled, it sounded more squeaky and not controlled. Yes, I had this calm exterior, but I was boiling.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but by then, I'd decided I didn't want to hear an explanation. If I spent another second here, I'd lose it and throw him off a cliff.

The show was over. I wanted to go home and drown myself in my sorrows.

I turned around and headed towards the door, aware I'd drawn some attention. Behind me, I could hear Liam calling my name, begging for me to listen. But I didn't stop. At one point, his pleas were overshadowed by the yelling of another woman: The redhead.

I staggered out of the jazz club, slightly drunk and very high on life. The four-inch maroon heels I was wearing were practically digging into my feet. So with the anger from Liam's actions, I yanked off the deathtraps I'd specially worn to impress him and hurled them at a nearby wall. People standing around there scrambled away for their dear lives just nanoseconds before the heels collided with the wall behind them and broke.

I sighed and walked away from the angry mob I'd created, knowing I would regret that decision when I was sober. Those shoes had to be my most expensive ones, not to mention my favorite as well. I let a chain of curse words fall from my lips.

Liam wasn't the first person to break my heart though. Over the years I'd had my fair amount of experiments with love, but this one had to be the worst. For the life of me, I swore it was also going to be the last.

But when I got to my car and saw the handsome stranger leaning against its hood with a bottle of vodka in his hand, something in me begged to differ.

For a moment, I was amazed by the looks of the stranger. Some of his blonde hair was pressed to his forehead by what was probably sweat. He wore a plain blue dress shirt and a pair of black trousers to match-certainly not the ideal look for coming to a jazz club. Judging from the gold watch hanging around his wrist, he was rich.

I stood there, bare feet against cold grass, and watched him lift the bottle to his lips, tilt his head back and gulp the alcohol down like it was his job. Almost half the bottle was gone when he brought it back down.

Subconsciously, I licked my lips, whistling in my brain. He sure was a sight to look at. Broad shoulders, squared jawline, the full package. With looks like that, he could probably get any woman he wanted. I mean, I, for one, would give-

Snap out of it, Cam! I scolded my drunk self and then proceeded to retrieve the keys to my black SUV from my bra as quietly as possible. All the while, I wondered what a man like him was doing at a jazz club at this time, looking, dare I say, quite miserable on the outside. His broad shoulders sulked. With the way he was leaning against my baby, he would probably leave a dent.

I put one foot out and took a step forward just before the keys went flying out of my hand and crashed to the grass, jingling all the way.

I cursed and reached down, snatching the keys before standing back up to stare in further wonderment at the stranger. He lifted his gaze as well, making our gazes lock. His green eyes, though bloodshot, almost swept me off my feet. I felt my heart jump to my throat.

I couldn't help the feeling of mutuality brewing inside me. He was in pain, and I was in pain. No one would understand him better than I would at this moment. And no one would understand me better than him at this moment.

However, I knew better than to trust another man.

His stare went from brutally searching to scrutinizing and then to slightly confused in one second. I held on tighter to my keys.

I didn't have time for this. What I wanted to do was go home and cry into my trusty pillow: that bundle of feathers had been with me through the worst of my heartbreaks. I needed it now more than ever.

Taking a deep breath, I marched forward with as much confidence as I could muster-which took a lot of pride because I was still tipsy, and my steps weren't exactly graceful.

His green eyes didn't stop watching me. Not when I unlocked the driver's door directly across from him and not even when I opened it. You'd think he'd get the memo and leave when he saw me with the keys.

I slipped into the driver's seat and banged the door shut beside me, leaning my forehead on the steering wheel and taking deep breaths to calm my aching heart.

Not here, at home.

Lifting my head, I slipped the keys into the ignition and sighed when the engine came to life. When I looked up, the stranger wasn't there anymore.

Most of me wondered where he'd gone, but a small part reminded me that it was none of my concern. Either way, my question was shortly answered.

I jumped when I heard knocks coming from the window next to me. Turning toward the noise, I realized it was the stranger, standing outside in all his gorgeous glory.

I pushed a button to shut the window before my mind could even think, throwing my hair behind me.

"What?" I asked, sounding a lot sterner than I'd wanted.

When he replied, his voice was smooth, low, and deep.

"You can't drive drunk," he muttered, still considering me. The half-finished bottle of vodka was in his hand, hanging at his side.

My gaze flickered from the bottle to his face, and I scoffed.

"Says the guy who just downed vodka as if his life depended on it."

In a gruff voice, he said, "I'm not drunk." His gaze leveled with mine. "But what if I said yes?"

My brows furrowed in confusion. "Huh?"

"What if I said that my life did depend on it," he clarified. "Would you care enough to come out and ask why?"

I blinked at him. He blinked back.

"I don't know you," I stated, my grip on the steering wheel tightening. I don't know if you're like Liam, my subconscious added.

"Neither do I," he shrugged, "but as the gentleman I am, I can't let you drive home drunk without at least giving you a warning."

Gentle? He looked far from it!

I stared at him briefly, a slight pout gracing my lips. The engine of my car purred in the background.

For all I knew, this guy could be crazy or a mental asylum escapee. But looking into his eyes, I could sense no danger, just masked sorrow. I could feel my sorrow reaching out to him.

Besides, I couldn't drive home drunk. I would either end up dead or in a hospital. What was I thinking?

The answer was simple. I wasn't.

So with a huff, I shut off the engine and climbed out of the car. Once my bare feet met the familiar cold grass, I put out my hand.

"Hand the bottle over," I half-ordered, earning myself a cocked brow from him. If I was hanging with a stranger-a male stranger, in fact-after getting heartbroken, I might as well get really drunk.

After slightly hesitating, he held the bottle out for me. I snatched it immediately, lifting it to my lips and leaning back. Images of my cheating ex-boyfriend and all the other exes flew past my mind as the liquid burned down my throat.

I was technically kissing a stranger since we were drinking from the same bottle but-meh-who cared?

I brought the bottle down and stared at the green-eyed man who was now gaping at me. My vision swayed for a second, but I didn't stagger. I smiled at him instead.

All this... I was going to regret all this by the morning.