Chapter 1

• The only time I went to a bar alone was when a guy dumped me. I didn't want my roommates, Veronica and Katrin, to find out for as long as possible, so they wouldn't have to blame me. He wasn't right for you; we told you why you got involved with him. I was tired of hearing this shit. Yeah, I picked the bad guys; I realized that in high school when I lost my virginity in the back of Daniel Sparks' convertible. And the next day he blabbed to everyone that we slept together. Thank God he didn't take pictures or the shame would have followed me all the way to graduation. So, my classmates gossiped for a week, and then the high school football team lost in the quarterfinals, and everyone forgot about me.
• So, I was sitting at the bar drinking a dark beer. That was another sign that things were bad. Dark beer-the scariest version of all nightmares-was a perfect fit that day, because my ex didn't just break up with me; he cheated on me. It was just like the movies-in our bed, in the studio apartment we had rented a few weeks before, on the sheets I had bought. I really felt like things were going to work out with him. Alas. Sadness crept into my throat, but I drank the first bottle and replaced the sadness with anger. I didn't care.
• "Another bottle!" I shouted to the bartender, and he quickly opened a second bottle.
• Santa Monica was hot and the bars were busy. The fun here was almost as endless as the summer. The days were sunny, and in the evenings the coast came alive: garlands burning in the twilight, lanterns stretched along the waterfront, the sound of the ocean, and music playing in the bars. People were drunk, happy and in love. But not me, not tonight.
• I had to think about what to do next. I couldn't go home, because this place couldn't be my home now. Tomorrow I'd get my things and go back to the girls. And tomorrow I'd listen to the usual speeches from Veronica and Katrine. They hadn't rented out my room yet; they probably knew in their hearts that it would be business as usual. They were right, I'd say from the doorway as I carried my huge suitcase into the apartment. I'd leave the new sheets at the old house; what use were they know that he and some whore had slept on them.
• "I'm so pissed off about all this!" I said out loud, taking a big gulp of beer.
• "I always get dark beer and then complain that it tastes bitter," someone replied to my words. I turned my head and saw a very attractive source of the sound - a dark-haired man, a little over thirty, smiling and looking at me, apparently waiting for a drink.
• "I drink dark beer on vacation," I grinned and turned away. No, I wasn't going to get acquainted tonight, especially not with one of those guys. I took another look at him. He wore a tight black t-shirt (did anyone wear that anymore?) and both arms were tattooed from shoulder to wrist and fingers. He wore a chain of thick links around his neck, and excitement danced in his dark, almost black eyes.
• "And what kind of celebration brought you to the bar alone?"
• "I broke up with an idiot and now I'm completely free."
• Who told me to say that? It'll sound like a wake-up call to him now.
• "So, you're free tonight?"
• "No, I've had enough of one idiot, so I don't need another one." It was too rough, but he'd be off my back in no time, as long as he didn't punch me in the face, because you can expect anything from a guy like that. But I'm the kind of women who knows how to stand up for myself - a bottle of dark beer is a great way to break a hard head. But the guy laughed back, yeah, he laughed so hard.
• "And you're funny, have a good night," he picked up his drink and went to the table.
• I screwed up and didn't fully grasp the situation. Lost in my thoughts, I planned exactly what I'm going to do tomorrow; a haircut is a must. A new haircut will not only give me a fresh start, it will also signal to my friends that something's wrong - those suitcases on the doorstep speak volumes. Running my fingers through my long hair, I decide on a bob for tomorrow. But what about tonight, after the second bottle of beer? I consider the easy option - a third bottle. But then what? I can't go home and visiting my friends is out of the question. Maybe I could seek refuge at my brother's; he'd welcome me anytime, in any condition, but I'd have to brace myself for more of his lectures. On the plus side, his spacious house has a Jacuzzi, and he'd probably let me uncork a bottle of his finest wine at the bar. His luxurious brand name sheets are a comfort to sleep on. Ironically, it's his fault that I bought the bedding for the new house; I was just imitating my brother. Gregory has always been that way - pedantic, organized, meticulous about every detail, probably the traits that led him to become a cop. And then there's me - an asshole, as my parents used to say. Despite my alcoholic father and a mother who, divorced, had driven across the continent and settled somewhere in Vermont, calling only once a year.
• "Hi," someone pulled me out of my thoughts again. This time, it was a brown-haired guy with long, bobbed hair who looked to be about 30-35 years old. He was wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt and one arm was completely covered in tattoos. And when I say completely, I don't mean that it had some kind of patterns and symbols on it. No, the shoulder was a solid dark blue blur. Bad guys were all over me that day. No, don't think I judge a book by its cover, that a man with tattoos and piercings is automatically bad. It was not about that; it was about energy. Bad guys had a cheeky, I would even say cocky look, coupled with a smirk or half-smirk; they looked seductive, and they knew it. There was something alluring about their look; you were drawn to them even though you knew you were going to burn your wings. That's how it was...
• "Owen, my name is Owen, and my friend said that idiots weren't your type, so I thought I'd come up and introduce myself."
• I couldn't help but smile. I turned to find the brunette sitting at a nearby table, watching us. What could I say, what an odd couple.
• "Olivia."
• "It's a pleasure," he said happily, holding out his hand. "I was much further along than my friend, which made me think I was much prettier than he was."
• "In fact, he melted the ice and fell so you could get close to me and get to know him."
• "What an injustice! So, it's not about my beauty and sense of humor."
• I laughed again. Thanks for that; I thought nothing would cheer me up that day. Owen's eyes were green and a little tired, or maybe it was just me. We chatted for a few more minutes when the brunette I blew off came over.
• "And this is my friend who fell in unequal combat with your bad mood," said
• "Aaron."
• "Olivia," I replied quickly. "So that was your plan? To meet me on the second approach? Owen was a great co-pilot."
• "There's no second run or hidden agenda," Aaron apologized. "We are just a rescue team saving beautiful girls from bad moods."
• I rolled my eyes at the amount of pathos in that. Yes, another characteristic of bad guys was charisma and an inflated ego; they were the center of the universe, great catchers, saviors of women's hearts. But I didn't even have time to answer that.
• "Yeah, come on, you needed some company that night," Owen leaned toward me as if to suggest it.
• If he touched me, I would leave immediately. There was a new bar every ten meters along the coast, so I went to the next one, where they probably sold the same dark beer. I drank the third bottle and went to my brother and his soft sheets. But Owen didn't touch me; he kept his distance, and suddenly there was so much warmth and tenderness in his eyes. I nodded involuntarily and he grabbed my bottle of beer and carried it to his table. Aaron called for the bartender to bring three more. And there I was, slinging mud at my ex and the ex in front of him, the three of us laughing like we had known each other forever. There were seven beers on our table, and Aaron suggested we order more, but I felt I'd had enough.
• "I need to get some air and then go home," I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn't hold me and I swayed. Owen, who was sitting closer, jumped up and picked me up from behind. I felt his strong upper body and his hands on my waist. The strip of skin between my short top and jean shorts felt the warmth of his palms. He threw my arm around his neck and led me out of the bar. I was dizzy and the world around me was dancing a rumba.
• "I got your purse," Aaron said thoughtfully, swinging the bar door open. The wind hit my face, air currents from the ocean to the shore, waves crashing.
• "I can walk by myself, thank you," I tried to get out of the other man's arms. I knew how these stories ended; no active consent, they would rape me and dump me at the nearest dumpster. But Owen let me go. It was a waste. It wasn't just the world doing the rumba, it was my feet. This time I ended up in Aaron's arms. He picked me up and dragged me somewhere. But I didn't even have time to scream before he calmly said, "I'm going to take you down to the beach, sit there for a while, and you'll feel better."
• He wasn't lying; a minute later, I was sitting on the sand almost at the water's edge. The wind is fiercer and stronger here, bringing the fresh smell of the real ocean and little drops of saltwater.
• "Are you feeling better?" Owen is staying with me, and Aaron is off somewhere. I didn't have the energy to ask where he went, and I didn't have the energy to answer. I just shook my head. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps in the sand, very close. Then a jacket is pulled over my shoulders.
• "Here, put this on; it's cold in here."
• "I know you're doing all this to get me into bed," I said, finding the strength to protest the violence. "But I'm not going with you. I'm drunk, but I'll fight back. And my brother is a cop. He'll find your tattoos and put you in jail. So, you better go back to the bar and hook up with someone else."
• "Scared me," Owen laughed.
• "I would, but if we leave now, a bunch of those guys over there are going to do the same thing to you." I turned to see several male figures; they had built a fire and are drinking beer. The sound of the waves drowns out the conversations, but loud laughter occasionally reaches us.
• "You better get in the car; we'll take you wherever you want to go," Aaron said, holding out his hand.