The manscaped boys I’m used to can’t hold a candle to a man like this. With their chests waxed and legs encased in skinny trousers, there’s nothing about them that says, I will fuck the shit out of you and change your lightbulb if it’s out. Nope. This guy, on the other hand, is so … masculine. I’m all for women’s lib, but I can’t deny the fact that seeing a man so physically powerful makes me want to jump his bones before cooking him dinner.

The last time I was with a man this hot—or with any man at all for that matter—was at Vincent and Eve’s wedding and … no, I’m not going there. That night was too good, and I refuse to think about what will never happen again. Sure, the sex was off the charts. But I’d made it clear that I was looking for someone long-term, and while he promised to call me, he never followed through.

Whatever.

Slade is totally not my type. He runs adventure races in the wilderness while I prefer the treadmill at the gym. He hunts and kills animals—with a gun—and then smokes them, for God’s sake. I barely even eat meat!

I cringe, thinking of those poor baby deer he told me about. Alligators are one thing because, ew, alligators are gross. But deer? I let out a shudder. It was cool when he told me about how he used to hunt with his brother, and we joked around over it. But, after getting back home in LA and having detailed discussions with myself over whether or not I should be the one to call him first, I realized what he’d probably known from the start—we were completely incompatible.

The masked hottie steps out of line and walks over to me. I seductively bite my lip, trying to get my flirt on and head back in the game.

The girlie part of me shakes her ass, screaming, He’s coming over! He likes me!

As if it’s happening in slow motion, he lifts the mask from his face, setting it on his forehead. My jaw slackens as a warm, sexy smile fills his face.

“Hey, Lauren.” His voice is like an aphrodisiac to my senses.

I blink, and, of course, that’s the moment the alcohol in my blood stream begins to really hit me. I was buzzed, but that last drink took me to an entirely different plane. My memory chooses to remind me of the way he sounded during sex. Saying my name, deep and gravelly, as though he’d die if he stopped fucking me. Raising my leg over his massive shoulders—

Oh shit. My blood travels way down south, pulsing down between my legs. It’s unstoppable.

“Um, hey, Slade.” I keep my voice steady, trying not to falter.

I seriously cannot believe he’s the one I’ve been ogling. Is he the only masculine man on the West Coast? I let out a small cry over the coincidence, hoping the loud music drowns out the sound.