I'd kicked cigarettes three years ago, but I needed an excuse to get away from Dad. It always escalated into an argument with him, and I refused to spoil my sister's wedding reception. So when I spotted the short, portly bastard headed my way, I faked a nic fit then slipped out the back door of the restaurant.

I sighed as my ass hit the cool sidewalk. A spring breeze drifted by, and I inhaled deeply of the city scents it carried. Hot dogs from street vendors, fuel exhaust, and a potpourri of freshly served food coming from the restaurant. Soaking this in relaxed me.

Until I looked to my left and saw a gorgeous blond man walking toward me. His hair was a mess of spikes. He was about six foot. Dressed in gaudy plaid pants and a t-shirt far too tight. But I wasn't complaining. Though he wore a leather jacket over top, I could still make out well defined pecs, a toned stomach. I looked up from where his tight pants bunched in an impressive bulge and our gazes met.

He had doe eyes and a crooked grin. My mouth went dry, and I tried to look away, but failed on the first try. Normally, the attention of a handsome male lifted a crappy mood, but not today. Today, I just wanted solitude. Dealing with my overbearing father was stress enough.

I was never much of a punk fan, but something about my unexpected guest intrigued me. Still, he seemed to spell trouble, so I forced myself to stare at my shoes instead.

He sat close beside me. I kept focusing on my shoes, hoping if I ignored him long enough he'd go away. Instead, he stretched his legs out, propped one black, three-inch platform on top of the other, and slid a cigarette from a pack tucked in his jacket pocket.