Struck By Eros (Holiday Hookups #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Ricky.”

“Come on Theo, don’t be like that.”

“You’re breaking up with me on Valentine’s Day. I have every right to be upset.”

“You know what I think about Valentine’s Day. It’s a day of corporate greed and a celebration of capitalism. It has nothing to do with love.”

I grab my winter coat off the back of our couch. I guess it’s his couch now, considering my name isn’t on the lease to this place.

Fucking, fuck. I’m so screwed. My friends all warned me not to move in with him after only three months of dating.

But I was in love—and I thought he loved me.

Clearly, that’s not true. If he did, this wouldn’t be happening right now.

I fucking hate that I’m such a romantic, always falling for losers that do shit like this to me.

Making me love them and never loving me back with the same effort.

Not anymore.

“Theo,” Ricky sighs. “You had to know this wasn’t going to work long term.”

I glare at him. “And how was I supposed to know that? Last night you were telling me how great we were together. How there was nobody like me.”

He pauses and threads a hand through his red hair. “I meant in bed.”

“Seriously?”

The man doesn’t even look apologetic as he shrugs. “We aren’t great day to day. Even you said we’re opposites.”

Anger boils in my veins. We are opposites, but that’s what I enjoyed about us.

I thought he liked it too. He’s big, broad, and muscular with red hair and fair skin.

I’m tall and lean-muscled, with sun-kissed bronze skin, and short dark brown hair.

He loves to spend hours at the gym lifting, and I go on hikes because I love being in nature.

Ricky can watch all his horrible shows on TV, and I spend time reading and taking care of my plants.

I really did think it’s what made us, us. More things I was wrong about.

I rub a hand over my closely trimmed beard. “Whatever, Ricky. You’re an asshole.”

I angrily put on my coat and, for a split-second, debate if I should take some things with me now, but I’ll have to come back with boxes to get it all.

He may own the furniture, but I did move in all my clothes and my beloved collection of houseplants, including Kenny, a Fiddle-leaf fig I’ve brought back from the brink of death time and time again. Now he’s thriving.

I stalk toward the front door, and as I’m putting on my winter boots, Ricky’s thick arms snake around my waist, tugging me back against his chest. I stiffen but don’t pull away.

My traitorous body is still comforted by touch, though the scent of his Old Spice bodywash makes me want to gag.

I never liked it, but now I really don’t like it.

He buries his nose against my neck and inhales. For a moment, I forget that he just broke up with me, and essentially said I was only good for sex, and allow him to nuzzle me. The moment his lips attach to my neck, I come to my senses. I push him back and spin so that I’m facing him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I thought we could have one last goodbye fuck. As you said, it is Valentine’s Day. And as I said, we are good together, Theo.”

Seriously? How did I not see that this guy is a dick?

“I can’t believe I thought I loved you.” I hit him hard in the chest so he goes tumbling back.

“Hey!” He yells.

“I’ll text you tomorrow so I can come and get my things.”

“Theo—”

“Goodbye, Ricky.”

I nab my keys from the hook near the door frame, and open the door.

The frigid February wind bites into my heated skin as I throw it open, slamming it behind me.

I eat up the snow-covered ground toward my mid-size SUV and get in, not looking back toward the condo I called home only minutes ago.

I hit the start engine button and peel out of the driveway.

I have no idea where I’m going, but there is one thing I know.

I need a drink. Or ten.

I don’t know why I chose a hotel with a bar on the opposite side of Grove City.

I drove in silence for an hour before I found myself in the parking lot.

I’ve never been here before, and I hardly ever come to this side of town since my job at the florist and my condo—my once condo—are far from here. But here I am.

I unbuckle my belt robotically, and make my way to the glass door.

It’s started to snow and the wind is stronger now.

I hold the flaps of my unbuttoned coat closed, walking into the hotel lobby.

It’s a nice place, decorated with pink and white lights and other Valentine’s Day decor.

I would have loved this had I walked in a few hours prior—but no longer.

Now I want to rip it all down and yell at the top of my lungs, “True love isn’t real!

Fuck Valentine’s Day!” But that would be dumb of me, and I’d most likely be arrested.

So instead, I ask the concierge where the bar is located and he directs me to the back and left of the lobby.

I walk through a second set of glass doors and into the space. Thankfully the decor is lighter here, and since it’s not a restaurant, I’m met with a bar full of men in business suits instead of couples feeding each other tiramisu. Seems like I picked the right place.

I look around for a place to sit. There’s a seat at the bar between two men, and a few high-top tables open.

There are a few booths, two of which are occupied and one open in the corner.

Deciding that’s the best place for me to drink and wallow without having to make polite conversation with anyone, I make my way over.

I reach the booth at the same time a man appears from around the corner from where I assume the bathrooms are.

He slides into the booth while his dark blue eyes lock on to mine.

“Excuse me,” I say politely. “I was going to sit here.”

He gestures to the open space of the booth. Since it’s a corner one, the padded seat connects so it makes a half rectangular shape.

“Nobody is stopping you,” he replies.

Is this guy for real?

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.

The light in here is dim, but there’s a candle lit on the table that lights his cherub-like features from below, the flame flickering in his stormy eyes.

With his short sandy curls and sweet features, he’s beautiful, for lack of a better word.

Ethereal even. Yet somehow, he screams danger.

It’s an odd combination, and butterflies erupt in my stomach out of nowhere.

“I wasn’t planning on sharing the table,” I manage to get out in an even tone.

The man points to a high top nearby. “There’s a table there.”

“I wanted the booth.”

“Are you allergic to sharing?”

“Are you allergic to being fair?”

He chuckles, the sound low in his throat. The butterflies in my stomach multiply at the tone, and to be honest, I don’t know if they’re telling me I’m attracted to this man or to run away from him. But my feet stay planted on the ground, regardless of whatever it is I’m feeling.

“Hmmm, well, we both want the booth. I’m alone and I’m guessing you are too. Plus, I sat here before I went to use the restroom. My coat was here,” he points to the bench.

Weird. I could have sworn it wasn't there before, but there it is, on the booth next to him.

He smirks. “I think I’m being more than fair by sharing, no?”

I can’t argue with him there. It’s not as if I own the booth. And if his coat was there…

I sigh and decide I’ll take the high top then, but when I turn to go to it, two businessmen have sat down with their drinks.

I look over to the bar where the empty seat was before, and that’s filled now too.

Meaning, I either share with this beautiful stranger, or leave and find somewhere else to go.

“I won’t bite.”

I meet his gaze again. His head is cocked to the side, and his lips are still upturned.

We stare at each other for what is only seconds, but feels like an hour.

I should leave, grab a hotel room, and drown my pride in overpriced mini-bar wine.

Then maybe I’d work up the nerve to call one of my friends, confess they were right about Ricky—that moving in with him was a mistake—and beg for a place to stay.

But honestly? That sounds a lot worse than sharing a booth and a drink with this beautiful man.

“Alright. If you don’t mind,” I say on an exhale, the annoyance I felt before leaving my body.

He gestures to the open booth, and I notice how long and dexterous his fingers are. They’re also decorated in silver and gold rings.

Why is that so attractive?

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I did. Now sit…”

“Theo,” I fill in his pause for him.

“Theo.”

My name rolls off his tongue like the notes of a fine wine.

The butterflies bang in my stomach as if they’re trying to break free from containment, and if I was smarter, I’d take it as a warning to run instead of to sit.

The last thing I need tonight is to get involved with another man.

He may be a stranger, but he doesn’t deserve to be the guy I use to take my mind off another failed relationship.

Despite that thought, I remove my coat and sit anyway.

“And your name?” I ask.

He leans back, and I notice the candle flickering over the white button-up shirt he’s wearing, covering his plush form.

The top few buttons are undone, revealing his clean chest, which I have no doubt would feel amazing under my lips.

My body temperature skyrockets when the man’s throat clears. I meet his amused gaze.

“You can call me E.”

I want to be angry that he’s not giving me his full name, but we’re sharing a booth together at a hotel bar on Valentine’s Day.

I have no right to demand his full name, even if I stupidly gave him mine.

Not that it matters. I’m single and nothing is going to happen anyway.

Especially if he’s hiding something—which I’m going to guess he is.

“It’s nice to meet you, E.”

“Nice to meet you too, Theo. Now, what would you like to drink? The first round is on me.”