EITHER MY KILLER black heels or the overabundance of tequila swishing through my system was to blame for my wobbly walking. As Doug pulled me further away from the ballroom and down the dimly lit hallway "Crazy in Love" by Beyoncé drifted into the ether. This impromptu rendezvous was nothing more than a drunken disaster about to take place during our friend's wedding reception.

Three years ago, my best friend, Bryson, reunited with her soul mate, Hart Mitchell. Theirs was the type of love that inspired epic romance novels. Hart was perfect except for one thing—a six foot two inch, dark sandy—blond—haired, golden hazel eyed pain in the ass named Doug Truman. Because of Hart's lapse in judgment in the bud/dude/bro department, I was forced to allow Doug into my hemisphere.

We met right before one of Hart's basketball tournaments. I wasn't thrilled with Bryson dragging me to the game. For one, I didn't like sports and for another, I was pissed that she'd kept her feelings for Hart a secret from me. As I stood pouting, a tall, lean and cut body with flailing arms headed toward Bryson and me. With each step, it became very apparent that he was a little crazy and could pose a real threat. So a split second before he lunged toward Bryson, I grabbed him by the wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and demanded he drop to his knees. Two seconds later Bryson explained that Doug was one of Hart's best friends. And that he wasn't lunging but coming in for a hug.

Once I helped Doug up and he came into focus, tingles spread throughout my body. His entire being exuded a relaxed sexiness with his messy hair and five o'clock shadow. And his bright green eyes and crooked grin screamed mischievous devil. Even though he was so not my type, I had a sense of relief realizing that maybe the day wouldn't be a complete loss. A little flirting with Doug would occupy my time while Bryson stared at every move Hart made. But suddenly something happened that doused the tingles and skyrocketed my annoyance level into the stratosphere… Doug spoke and… Never. Shut. Up.

Doug was that guy who had convinced himself that he had game, when in reality, the game had been rained out, indefinitely. So the past three years has consisted of one feeble attempt after another to sleep with me. Even though he was constantly testing the boundaries of acceptable social behavior, I found it freakishly flattering. Doug was nothing if not tenacious in his pursuit. There was no question he was aesthetically pleasing to the eye. But each time Doug opened his mouth, he turned into an emotionally stunted, maturity lacking, uberhorny Neanderthal.

I'd been successful at resisting his lame attempts at wooing me up until tonight. I was in a weird mood. Maybe it was seeing how in love

Bryson and Hart were that caused my chest to ache with a yearning desire, that someday, I too, would find the one person I connected with—body, mind, and soul. I'd heard opposites attract, people say once you stop looking love finds you, and sometimes what you want is right in front of you. After four shots of tequila and an appletini, I began to wonder… Could Doug be my person?

Contemplate.

Contemplate

Contemplate.

My body shuddered at the thought. I was simply a bundle of pent—up sexual need that had to be released. Doug was hot and as long as he kept his mouth shut, the green light for a quickie was shining bright.

I hadn't been to the aquarium since senior prom but if memory served there was a maintenance closet right around the corner. I yanked my hand from his.

Doug's head whipped around in my direction, his expression heated. "What the fu…"

"I can't run in these shoes. Besides you have no idea where the hell you're going," I said, slipping out of my heels.

He stepped in front of me, wrapped his arm around my waist, and pulled me to his chest. "Oh, I know exactly where I'm headed. I've got VIP access."

"VIP access?"

"Very Impressive Penis." His voice was low as he leaned in for a kiss.

I stabbed my finger into his chest. "Not so fast, jackass. Let's get one thing straight. Presently, you're sitting in the nose bleed section. I haven't decided if you're worthy of a backstage pass."

Doug's hand slid down and cupped my ass. "Holy shit! I didn't know that was even an option."

"You have no idea how many items are on my a la carte menu.

But, before we go any further… this thing between us… nothing more than a simple uncomplicated, one—time hook—up. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm drunk."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're drunk."

"Actually not so much," he admitted.

"No matter. I think you're hot. You think I'm hot. Period."

"Exactly. Just two flamers getting it on."

My nose crinkled. "What?"

"I don't know what I'm saying. I can't believe we're finally going to do this."

I stepped back, grabbed his hand, and took the lead, guiding us around the corner.

"Where are you going? The bathroom is in the other direction," he said.

"Ew, I'm not hooking up in a public bathroom."

"Why not? It's hot."

"You realize what else people do in there, right?"

A tiny spark of recognition glimmered in his eyes. "Why'd you have to go ruin hot bathroom sex for me?"

The closet was exactly where I remembered. I pushed open the door and pulled Doug inside. The dim fluorescent light bounced off the metal shelves as the scent of cleaning supplies filled the air. Slamming him against the door, I shoved the black tuxedo jacket off his broad shoulders. His hands ran up the sides of both my thighs, pushing my dress up along the way. When he reached my pink lace panties, his eyes closed and an expression of pure bliss crossed his face. It was as if he'd found the land of milk and honey. His reaction caused a shiver to swirl all over my body.