Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(7)

I make a scoffing noise. “No thanks. Older, younger, the same age, I’m really not interested. You know I’ve sworn off sex.”

Haven stops and levels me with an are-you-kidding-me expression. “I never thought you were serious,” she says.

We’ve reached the bar, and we wedge our bodies in between two standing patrons. Haven is facing me, inches away, as she hisses, “You need to forget about that God-awful, three-thrust experience you had with the study-partner dude.”

“He wasn’t a study partner,” I mutter, just as the song in the background is changing. “He was cowriting an article for the school paper with me.”

“What?” she yells over the now very loud music.

I yell back, “He wasn’t my study partner.”

“Whatever,” Haven says, shrugging her slender shoulders. “In any case, you need to dust yourself off and get back on the horse.” She nudges my arm. “Like, literally, Essa.”

“I don’t know…” I’m glad it’s dark and she can’t see me blushing. “…maybe.”

Despite my embarrassment, I can’t deny that Haven has a valid point. I sometimes think the same thing. Maybe that’s why I’m still taking birth control pills, even after the Saint Patrick’s Day bad-sex debacle. I lie to myself. I tell myself I stay on the pill for clearer skin. But, really, there’s one guy I’d scrap my no-sex-ever-again plan for—Haven’s brother, Farren. And maybe that would have been in the cards, if New York was happening.

But it’s not, alas…

My gaze flickers to the two men in the bar. They are both older, like Farren. One has dark hair, the other is a blond. From far away like this, and with inebriation blurring my vision, I start to think the dark-haired man could pass for Farren. Maybe.

Dark-haired Man catches me staring. He nods and lifts his drink—something that looks like whiskey in a rocks glass.

Beer goggles or not, while staring at the Farren look-alike, I dreamily murmur to Haven, “Hmm, maybe you’re right. Maybe I should, uh, how did you put it? Get back on the horse, right?”

I don’t dare add that I may be drunk enough to pretend my dark-haired admirer is Farren. I’d never tell my friend—who’s currently staring at me, mouth agape—that I lust this hard for her brother. She’d probably think I’m crazy, considering I’ve never even met Farren.

Losing the shocked expression, Haven clears her throat and says, “You know what, Essa. I’m proud of you. You’re being daring.” She studies me, glances at the guys, and then returning her gaze to me, says, “You like the dark-haired one, don’t you?”

“He’s okay,” I say, shrugging.

Jesus, I hope she doesn’t notice the man’s resemblance to her brother.

But I don’t think she sees the connection, since she starts pulling me in the direction of the men. “Come on,” she says, laughing. “Let’s go get you laid.”

I grimace. I may talk big, but am I drunk enough to have sex with a stranger?

Haven, taking notice of my slowing steps and troubled expression, backtracks quickly. In an understanding tone, she says, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You know that, right?”

I nod.

“Do you want to at least go talk to them? I think the dark-haired one likes you. We can get a drink with them and see how things go.”

“What about you?” I say. “Are you okay with hanging out with the blond one?”

I don’t want Haven wasting her time talking to someone she’s not into just for my sake.

“Sure,” she says, nodding in his direction. “Look at him. He’s really cute. Plus, God knows I can use a distraction. I need something to help me forget about the professor.”

I’m about to say teasingly that I’m shocked my dance-floor kisses didn’t make her forget about her broken heart. But then I see how sad she really is, and I say nothing at all. Poor Haven. Professor Walsh really messed with her head.

In that moment, I decide to be a good friend and roll with whatever happens tonight. After all, this evening is supposed to be about fun and good times. So we maneuver our way past two girls chatting on the steps that lead to the raised area above the dance floor and close in on the older men.

It’s like they’re our prey, I think, giggling at the thought. But then I see the way the blond man is eyeing Haven, hungry and cold, and I worry someone in this scenario is prey.

And it’s not either of the men.

Just then, I notice I’m being watched as well. The man with the dark hair is sizing me up. Not in any hungry or cold way, but rather in a seemingly thoughtful manner.

“Hey.” Haven bumps my shoulder with her shoulder. “Check out the hot Scandinavian features on Blondie. I didn’t notice it from far away, but he could totally pass for Eric on True Blood.”

Haven and I are True Blood junkies. We binge watch past seasons when we’re bored. Hmm, maybe that’s why the blond man initially looked like a predator to me. The whole vampire thing and all.

“Shit, Hav,” I reply. “He really does look like Eric.”

And he does. Blondie is Viking-tall, blond, and very obviously buff. His toned body moves fluidly in his smartly tailored suit.