Chapter 5

Kiara

"I don't need your sympathy," I bite out.

Damn, I actually might need to tone down the bitterness a bit. I'm starting to sound like a real bitch.

"Real men don't cheat."

"Well, I didn't see the signs until it was too late. I'm starting to believe there aren't any left," I mutter, downing the last cocktail.

"Well look no further, you're in the presence of one."

I laugh humorlessly. "Nice one. You use that on all the girls you manage to trick into bed?"

He shrugs. "Don't know, I don't usually approach women."

"Oh, so I'm special then?"

Ugh. I already know he's full of shit. Why am I still entertaining him?

Maybe because he has my vagina throbbing like a second heartbeat.

"I'm interested in finding out, but before I do, just know I'm not the relationship type. I don't do love. I'm usually just the guy women fuck inbetween serious relationships."

I scoff. "Talk about being a cliche. I wonder how many guys have said "I don't do love," I use air quotes, mocking his voice, "I don't think me being bitter and you being the heartless playboy will mix well."

He chuckles, shooting me another arrogant grin. "I suppose you're right, but what's the harm if it's only one night?"

I swallow hard. I've only been with Jordan, so I've never even considered having a one-night-stand. I think back to how Jordan told my sister how boring I was. What if I actually suck at sex? That would be so embarrassing, but also I would never see this stranger again after it happens, so what do I really have to lose?

While eagerly awaiting my response, he swiftly declines the bartender's offer for another beer.

"One and done?" I ask.

He nods, the muscle in his jaw ticking up and down. "Both of my parents are alcoholics. I make sure that shit ends with me."

That reminds me of Candy. Watching her Mom's life be destroyed by alcohol, she has never laid a finger on it.

"Wow, my friend is like that too. She doesn't drink at all."

"Smart girl," he murmurs. "What about you? You know you can't just drink your troubles away."

"Hey, don't judge me! I've had a crappy week," I scowl back at him defensively.

I've only had like four or five now. I think.

Worry clouds in his eyes, but it's gone in a blink of an eye, replaced by a mask of indifference.

Suddenly, I fall out of the barstool, and strong arms swiftly wrap around my waist, stopping me from embarrassing myself further. "Woah, you okay?" his warm breath fans against the nape of my neck, sending tingles up my spine.

Or maybe that's just the alcohol.

He pulls me closer, his arms wrapping tightly around my upper body to keep me steady. I can feel the firmness of his abs pressing against my back, and I gasp.

He's even more ripped than I thought he was.

"That's enough for you, ma'am. Do you have someone to take you home?" the bartender asks, his voice laced with irritation.

How fucking embarrassing. The room is starting to spin, and all I can do is giggle uncontrollably.

I would call Candy, but she's probably busy at work and I know after seeing me hammered like this, I would have to open up about my fucked up week and I'm still not looking forward to that.

So, my only hope is the sexy stranger.

I try to ask him to help me to my car, but my slurred words make it uncertain if he understood. He glares down at me, nostrils flaring, and firmly states, "No. I'm taking you home."