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I'm tempted to drop out of life. Not suicide, but falling off the grid away from everything and everyone. Maybe I'll run off to Dubai...that sounds nice. Cameron just laughs at me when I tell her this. The only part I find funny is the fact that she thinks I'm joking.

"I'm serious Cameron, I'm done with people. Especially guys." I grunt into the phone speaker as I pull up to the bar.

"I understand, babe. Ricky is annoying the hell out of me," Cameron sighs.

I don't even mind her comment. They've been together since junior high and at least 5 times a week Ricky is annoying her. But their love and bond are ridiculously strong to last through high school and long-distance college. When they graduated, they immediately got married and have been that way for 5 years.

I on the other hand can barely keep one for two years without him cheating on me.

"You're still coming to the bar right? I need to rant."

"Luna one day you will find a guy who treats you the way you deserve," she attempts to console. It's not working, I'm already over men.

After assuring Cameron that we will talk more when she gets here, I hang up and cut the engine to the car before climbing out and heading into the bar. It's packed more than usual in here. I guess I'm not the only person who needed a break from life today.

Scanning the room, I spot an empty seat at the bar right between a guy and a girl. They don't seem to be together as the girl is turned to another guy entrapped in a conversation that I doubt is interesting. Seeing as she's occupied I approach the man at the bar and tap his shoulder to get his attention.

"I'm not interested," he grunts without even glancing in my direction.

"I'm not interested either," I retort. "Is this seat taken?"

"No, but I don't recommend sitting there because I don't do small talk."

Dear God, please help me not to strangle someone tonight.

"Don't worry, big man, I don't want it."

I roll my eyes and climb onto the barstool. I barely fit between the behemoth and the other girl to the left of me. Straightening my back, I attempt to make myself feel larger. This man's muscles are nearly the size of my thighs and his height is intimidating. He makes me feel small. I'm tired of the feeling. I need something strong tonight. I summon the bartender.

When the bartender comes over with a "seductive smirk" on his face my whole body tenses and I know the behemoth man felt it because he tenses as well. I don't want to be flirted with.

"What can I get the beautiful lady?" He asks.

"Whiskey. Neat." My politeness is forced. I don't want to talk to this guy, I want to talk to Cam and she's not here yet.

He leans against the bar and shakes his head in disbelief. "That's a man's drink, Baby. What about a pretty cocktail for the pretty girl?"

I take a deep breath to hone in my anger before speaking. "I just want whiskey."

Who knew it would be this hard to get a bartender to give me one of the simplest drinks? The man next to me just snickers as the bartender continues his flirting. As a bartender, I feel like he should know when a patron is not interested.

When he continues to press, the behemoth steps in, leaning in front of me to get the attention of the bartender. "Just give her the whiskey," he demands in that deep voice.

I know I kind of ruled out men, but I would make a single-night exception from him. For some reason, I can imagine his deep voice murmuring my name as I trail kisses over his muscular body. I don't think I've ever found a voice sexy, but his voice is a panty melter.

The bartender nods then straightens up from his hunched-over position. "Sorry I didn't know she was with you."

"I don't even know the guy," I blurt out of anger. Why when the behemoth speaks up does he finally listen?

When the bartender finally begins to pour my drink, I turn to the man to find him already looking down at me. Neither one of us say anything, we only glare, even when the bartender sets my drink in front of us. Then the behemoth's mouth opens and he says...

"So you think I'm a prick?"

"I never said that." But yes.

He nods and leans closer. "You thought it, Sugar."

"So you read minds?" I question, curiously. If he says yes, I am leaving this bar and never looking back. He just shrugs and turns back to his drink.

In an attempt to get his attention again, I tap his very firm and well-defined bicep that is accentuated by a tight white formal shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He turns back to me with a smirk and I release my annoyance and anger out on the wrong guy.

"Look here you...bodybuilder, I don't know who you are and I don't want to. First I find you very arrogant because you thought I wanted to talk to you. Second, you are a prick and I'm pretty sure you know it. Just because you're having a bad day doesn't mean you have to be rude."

Hypocrite, my conscious interjects.

But I don't think I was rude to the bartender, just straightforward and calm. I may have been a little rude to the behemoth, but he deserves it.

"Only trying to help, Princess."

"Was it that or were you just tired of him ruining your lonely brooding?" I growl.

He smirks and for some reason, I am extremely riled up and when he leans into my personal space and runs his fingers over mine that are on top of the bar, I'm tempted to punch him. For some strange reason, I don't. I let him get closer to me and I enjoy the scent of mint and bergamot. Then he speaks.

"I like when you growl, shortcake." He gets impossibly close and everything around me disappears. "But I will take 'lonely brooding' for 500."

I roll my eyes and hop down from the stool, not missing the way his grey eyes with flecks of blue stay on mine. He's impossibly handsome. Chiseled features, strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, delicious mouth, thick kissable lips. But his personality sucks.

Ignoring him, I grab my whiskey and walk over to the other side of the bar, without a word. Thankfully some girl just left with a guy which gave me an opening. But my friend still is not here so I decide to shoot her a text.

Luna: Where are you?

Cameron: I'm sorry, I don't think I will make it. Ricky and I got into a fight and one thing led to another and now I'm in bed.

Way too much information that I didn't need, but I understand. Or at least I can try to.

Luna: It's fine. I'll talk to you later.

Cameron: I'm sorry again.

I down the glass of whiskey, letting it travel down my throat. Then I summon the bartender and ask him to keep them coming. This time he does as asked and I let myself get intoxicated until I forget about all the bad things and the bar has nearly cleared out.

The time reads two in the morning and I still feel like I'm not drunk enough after being here for 4 hours. There are only 6 people in the bar now. The bartender, a couple making out, an older man, me, and the arrogant prick who has been staring at me for the past five minutes. Creep.

I grip my keys in my hand and hop off the barstool, stumbling into the other stools surrounding the bar. Immediately I regain my balance again and begin to walk only to be stopped by the behemoth prick. Mmm, he is so hot.

I barely get another step before his hands move to my waist. "Let's go, kitten," he demands already beginning to pull me along.

Pulling back, I grin up at him and reach up to pat his cheek in a soft rejection. "I'll take 'no' for 500." I mock his previous words from earlier.

He smiles and if I wasn't intoxicated enough, I definitely am now. But per usual he talks again. "You can either come willingly or I will carry you out."

"How about neither?" I question, sidestepping him. I get two steps when two hands grip my waist and my feet lose contact with the ground. He throws me over his shoulder and starts to walk out the door. I don't even protest. I'll handle him when I get outside.

When we get outside he walks straight up to a large black truck and puts me down by the passenger door. I take my shot. My first swing connects with his jaw and my kick meets his thigh.

"Fuck," he groans grabbing my wrists in an attempt to stop me.

I knee him in the groin causing him to release me so he can cup his dick in pain. I start to run when he grips my waist and pulls me back into him. I kick and scream for him to let me go. He wraps his body around me, basically immobilizing me. Then I remember the keys in my hand and position them between my fingers ready to stab him when he speaks.

"Calm down and I will let you go."

If it wasn't for the look in his eyes, I wouldn't have relaxed but there was something honest and genuine. Still, I didn't release my keys in the off chance that I was being deceived. But ever so slowly he releases me then pulls out his wallet. At least I thought it was until I saw the badge and he flipped open his credentials.

"I just punched an FBI guy. It's not assault because you didn't reveal your identity so in my situation it was just self defense." I quickly add, freaking out on the inside. "Why didn't you say so instead of carrying me out!"

He's released me, but he still stands very close and pushes my messy hair out of my face. "Drunk people aren't that reasonable, Firefly."

"I'm not even that drunk," I defend.

And what the hell is up with all these nicknames. He's called me five all in the short timespan of knowing me. I should come up with some for him. Sadly all that comes to mind is multiple versions of physical attraction. Hot, sexy, beautiful, gorgeous, guapo, handsome, studmuffin. I might be a little drunk.

"What do you want?" I grunt.

He pulls back and opens the passenger door of the truck. "I'm taking you home. You're not driving like this."

Humming, I pat his cheek and shake my head. "Well lookie here all you have to do is walk me to my car because that is where I will be sleeping tonight."

Alcohol and emotions do not go together and soon enough tears start to form in my eyes. Dubai is sounding nicer and nicer each second. Maybe me and the FBI guy can run off together...I'm definitely drunk.

"Get in the truck, Tiger." He grunts gesturing towards the open door.

Defiantly I cross my hands over my chest. "Definitely not after that performance."

Annoyed, he bites his bottom lip and steps closer to me. Sadly the behemoth doesn't seem to understand how much of a turn on that actually is. But when he picks me up like I barely weigh anything and puts me in the passenger seat my drunken mind gets really really naughty. This is bad.

He moves around to the other side and slides into the drivers side. As he helps me with the seatbelt, I notice the red mark on his jaw and I can't help but smirk. "You might want to ice that," I advise him.

He just grunts and clicks me in then starts the truck, the engine roaring to life. Another quick glance in my direction and he pulls off away from the bar towards...somewhere.