Page 2 of Hard Pass

Rules, that tonight, I simply don’t want to play by.

He puts his hands to his lips and shouts out when a song comes on, the crowd around him cheering.

I can’t stop watching him.

Willa follows my line of sight and lets out a low whistle. “Oh, absolutely not. That man has flirted with every woman in this bar tonight.”

“More like they’ve flirted with him.” I smile slowly. “And that’s exactly why I should.”

“Dublin, I—”

“You dared me to be different.” I toss back the rest of my drink.

“I didn’t mean that different.” Her eyes are wide as she gestures toward him.

I ignore the slight sense of doubt, that Willa doesn’t believe I can pull him. She’s probably right.

“I’m going to do this,” I say. “You have my location on your phone. You can find me if you’re worried. But”—I glance back as another cheer goes up and he hops down off the stage—“I’m not half-assing on this.”

Go big or go home, right?

The closer I get to him, the louder everything feels. The music. The laughter. The pulse of recklessness building with every step I take.

This is a terrible idea.

Every rational part of me hidden beneath it knows this is a dumb move—especially here in a foreign city where everything is unfamiliar—but isn’t that the point? To be wild just this once so twenty years from now I can at least say I lived?

I just move. Through the crowd. Against the grain. And push my way into the inner circle of beautiful people that surround him.

When I reach his table, he turns around to accept another beer from a guy to his right, before noticing me. And when he does, his gaze drops as he takes me in.

His grin is lazy—or maybe drunken—as we stare at each other.

“You.” I don’t know where the word comes from, but it’s out of my mouth before I can think twice.

“Me?” I like the hint of amusement in his reply.

“Yeah.” I lift my chin slightly. “You.”

Something shifts in his expression. Interest maybe? Or curiosity.

He’s even more attractive up close. Sandy-blond hair. Pale blue eyes framed by thick lashes. Strong features that make him more like Mr. All-American mixed with Abercrombie model. Athletic in that wiry, corded muscle way rather than bulky.

And yes, the etched lines and divots in his sculpted torso are even sexier up close. They call for me to reach out and touch them.

“Is that so?” he asks, his eyes narrowing as his grin deepens.

“It is. I’ve decided and my decision is final.” Who am I?

He barks out a laugh that has me leaning closer. “Bold.”

“More like reckless,” I say.

“That too.” He lifts his beer to his lips, keeping his gaze locked on mine. “What’s your name?”

I laugh, glance back at where Willa is watching, and then shake my head. “You really don’t care what my name is.”

He lifts a lone eyebrow. “Probably not.”