He finishes mixing the drink and slides it over to me.

“I don’t really drink much anyway,” I say, taking a little sip from the straw.

“Much?”

“Yeah, well, tonight I think I’ll need a buzz.” I set the glass down and finger the lime on the rim.

“Why’s that?” he asks, wiping the bar top down with a paper towel.

“Wait a second.” I hold up one finger. “Before you get the wrong idea, I’m not here to spill my guts to you—bartender-customer therapy.” Natalie is all the therapy I can handle.

He laughs and tosses the paper towel somewhere behind the bar. “Well that’s good to know, because I’m not the advice type.”

I take another small sip, leaning over this time instead of lifting the glass from the bar; my loose hair falls all around my face. I rise back up and tuck one side behind my ear. I really hate wearing my hair down; it’s more trouble than it’s worth.

“Well, if you must know,” I say, looking right at him, “I was dragged here by my relentless best friend who would probably do something embarrassing to me in my sleep and take a blackmail pic if I didn’t come.”

“Ah, one of those,” he says, laying his arms across the bar top and folding his hands together. “I had a friend like that once. Six months after my fiancée skipped out on me, he dragged me to a nightclub just outside of Baltimore—I just wanted to sit at home and sulk in my misery, but turns out that night out was exactly what I needed.”

Oh great, this guy thinks he knows me already, or at least my “situation.” But he doesn’t know anything about my situation. Maybe he has the “bad ex” thing down, because we all have that, eventually, but the rest of it—my parents’ divorce; my older brother, Cole, going to jail; the death of the love of my life—I’m not about to tell this guy anything. The moment you tell someone else is the moment you become a whiner, and the world’s smallest violin starts to play. The truth is, we all have problems; we all go through hardships and pain, and my pain is paradise compared to a lot of people’s and I really have no right to whine at all.

“I thought you weren’t the advice type.” I smile sweetly.

He leans away from the bar and says, “I’m not, but if you’re getting something out of my story then be grateful.”

I smirk and take a fake sip this time. I don’t really want a buzz and I definitely don’t want to get drunk, especially since I have a feeling I’m going to be the one driving us home again.

Trying to take the spotlight off me, I prop one elbow on the bar and rest my chin on my knuckles and say, “So then what happened that night?”

The left side of his mouth lifts into a grin and he says, shaking his blond head, “I got laid for the first time since she left me, and I remembered how good it felt to be unchained from one person.”

I didn’t expect that kind of answer. Most guys I know would’ve lied about their relationship phobia, especially if they were hitting on me. I kind of like this guy. Just as a guy, of course; I’m not about to, as Natalie might say, bend over for him.

“I see,” I say, trying to hold in the true measure of my smile. “Well, at least you’re honest.”

“No other way to be,” he says as he reaches for an empty glass and starts to make a rum and Coke for himself. “I’ve found that most girls are as much afraid of commitment as guys are these days, and if you’re up front in the beginning, you’re more likely to come out of the one-nighter unscathed.”

I nod, fitting my fingertips around my straw. There’s no way I’d openly admit it to him, but I completely agree with him and even find it refreshing. I’ve never really given it that much thought before, but as much as I don’t want a relationship within one hundred feet of me, I am still human and I wouldn’t mind a one-night stand.

Just not with him. Or anyone in this place. OK, so maybe I’m too chicken for a one-night stand, and this drink has already started going straight to my head. Truth is, I’ve never done anything like that before, and even though the thought is kind of exciting, it still scares the shit out of me. I’ve only ever been with two guys: Ian Walsh, my first love, who took my virginity and died in a car accident three months later, and then Christian Deering, my Ian rebound guy and the jerk who cheated on me with some red-haired slut.

I’m just glad I never said that poisonous three-word phrase that begins with ‘I’ and ends with ‘you’, back to him because I had a feeling, deep down, that when he said it to me, he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

Then again, maybe he did and that’s why after five months of dating, he hooked up with someone else: because I never said it back.

I look up at the bartender to notice he’s smiling back at me, waiting patiently for me to say something. This guy’s good; either that, or he really is just trying to be friendly. I admit, he’s cute; can’t be older than twenty-five and has soft brown eyes that smile before his lips do. I notice how toned his biceps and chest are underneath that tight-fitting t-shirt. And he’s tanned; definitely a guy who has lived most of his life near an ocean somewhere.

I stop looking when I notice my mind wandering, thinking about how he looks in swim shorts and no shirt.

“I’m Blake,” he says. “I’m Rob’s brother.”

Rob? Oh yeah, the guy who owns The Underground.

I reach out my hand and Blake gently shakes it.

“Camryn.”

I hear Natalie’s voice over the music before I even see her. She makes her way through a cluster of people standing around near the dance floor and pushes her way past to get to me. Immediately, she takes note of Blake and her eyes start glistening, lighting up with her huge, blatant smile. Damon, following behind her with her hand still clasped in his, notices, too, but he just locks emotionless eyes with me. I get the strangest feeling from it, but I brush it off as Natalie presses her shoulder into mine.

“What are you doing over here?” she asks with obvious accusation in her voice. She’s grinning from ear to ear and glances between Blake and me several times before giving me all of her attention.

“Having a drink,” I say. “Did you come over here to get one for yourself, or to check up on me?”

“Both!” she says, letting Damon’s hand fall away from hers and she reaches up and taps hers fingers on the bar, smiling at Blake. “Anything with Vodka.”

Blake nods and looks at Damon.

“I’ll have rum and Coke,” Damon says.

Natalie presses her lips against the side of my head and I feel the heat of her breath on my ear when she whispers, “Holy shit, Cam! Do you know who that is?”

I notice Blake’s mouth spread subtly into a smile, having heard her.

Feeling my face get hot with embarrassment, I whisper back, “Yeah, his name is Blake.”

“That’s Rob’s brother!” she hisses; her gaze falls back on him.

I look up at Damon, hoping he’ll get the hint and drag her off somewhere, but this time he pretends not to ‘get it’. Where is the Damon I know, the one who used to have my back when it came to Natalie?

Uh oh, he must be pissed at her again. He only ever acts like this when Natalie has opened her big mouth, or done something that Damon just can’t get past. We’ve only been here for about thirty minutes. What could she have done in such a short time? And then I realize: this is Natalie and if anyone can piss a boyfriend off in under an under hour and without knowing it, it’s her.

I slip off the barstool and take her by the arm, pulling her away from the bar. Damon, probably knowing what my plan is, stays behind with Blake.

The music seems to have gotten louder as the live band ends one song and starts the next.

“What did you do?” I demand, turning her around to face me.

“What do you mean what did I do?” She’s hardly even paying attention to me; her body moves subtly with the music instead.

“Nat, I’m serious.”

Finally, she stops and looks right at me, searching my face for answers.

“To piss Damon off?” I say. “He was fine when we came in here.”

She looks across the space briefly at Damon standing by the bar, sipping his drink, and then back at me with a confused look on her face. “I didn’t do anything… I don’t think.” She looks up as if in thought, trying to recall what she might have said or done.

She puts her hands on her hips. “What makes you think he’s pissed?”

“He’s got that look,” I say, glancing back at him and Blake, “and I hate it when you two fight, especially when I’m stuck with you for the night and have to listen to you both go back and forth about stupid shit that happened a year ago.”

Natalie’s confused expression turns into a devious smile. “Well, I think you’re paranoid and maybe trying to distract me from saying anything about you and Blake.” She’s getting that playful look now and I hate it.

I roll my eyes. “There is no ‘me and Blake’, we’re just talking.”

“Talking is the first step. Smiling at him—(her grin deepens) which I totally saw you doing when I walked up—is the next step.” She crosses her arms and pops out her hip. “I bet you’ve already had a conversation with him without him having to pry the answers out of you—Hell, you already know his name.”

“For someone who wants me to have a good time and meet a guy, you don’t know how to shut up when things already appear to be going your way.”

Natalie lets the music dictate her movement again, raising her hands up a little above her and moving her hips around seductively. I just stand here.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” I say sternly. “You got what you wanted and I’m talking to someone and have no intention in telling him I have Chlamydia, so please, don’t make a scene.”