Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,19

outside of Camden without the hassle of actually looking for it.”

My eyes darted around the room, taking in all the masked men, wondering if I did this, if one of them would be who I’d be with.

A tall man dressed in black stopped me. As if he could feel my gaze raking across his broad frame, he turned, his dark eyes clashing with mine. I sucked in a breath. His ornate silver mask looked like the top half of a skull. The narrowed eyes created a startling yet beautiful picture. Even across the room, through his mask, I could see his dark eyes sparkling through the thin slits. My body heated under his stare as he made a point to move his head enough to let me know he was looking me up and down.

Something about him, about the way his attention burned me, had a familiar warmth to it like we’d met before.

What if…what if I got paired with him? That had my heart thundering for a whole new reason beyond nerves. A man approached the stranger, pulling his attention away, freeing me from his trance.

I looked over the rest of the room before looking back to Rae when Camden caught my eye and lifted his glass, offering a wink. My cheeks twitched but never quite formed a smile. Could I marry him knowing I’d never really experienced anything? Would I always regret being a perfect lady when I had the chance to not be? Did I want to be celibate until we married? Was he being celibate?

A giggle broke free. Probably not.

I remembered the way he called me a good girl before I got in the car after dinner. I remembered the way he called me pure, like I was saving myself for him.

He probably assumed I’d maybe slept with my college boyfriend with the lights out and under the covers. And he wouldn’t be completely wrong. My first time had been in college with my long-time boyfriend, and it had been missionary with the lights low. But there’d also been a few others. More than that—just because I’d only had sex like that, didn’t mean it was all I wanted. Pure wasn’t the word I’d use to describe the fantasies that only came late in the night.

No. I didn’t want to save anything for him—especially not my fantasies. I wanted to live those out on my own terms. He could earn my affection later, like my mom said he would. For now, I was ready to deliver a big fuck you to the man who assumed he could boss me around.

Fuck being a goody-two-shoes.

“Let’s do it,” I said before I could change my mind.

“Yay,” Raelynn squealed.

“If anything goes wrong, I’ll just blame it on the champagne.” I raised my glass, and she tapped hers against it, both of us downing the fizzy bubbles.

I followed her to the lobby and giggled when the alcohol finally reached my bloodstream, making me lightheaded.

She approached a man in a suit behind the concierge desk, and he produced a pen and paper. My eyes widened at all the selections. There was an age block, fetishes, hard limits, and a line for any extra notes. I made sure to write down Camden’s name and my father’s in the space for requests the match not be, because better safe than sorry. I crossed off the option for a room, wanting to be able to escape whenever. What that meant, I didn’t know, but a thrill shot through me thinking about all the places that could replace a room.

Without thinking too much, I slid the paper back to the man and pulled my hand back before changing my mind.

“Instructions will be delivered when a match is made,” he said with a curt nod.

Raelynn linked her arm in mine and tugged me back into the ballroom. “You won’t regret this. I’ve never had a bad experience.”

“How often do you do this?”

“Why do you think I actually attend these events?”

I thought of all the times she’d gone home to attend a gala with her family over the years. “Damn, Rae.”

“Hey, no judgment.”

“None at all.”

“Come on, brave little toaster. I think one shot is in order.”

On our way to the bar, my eyes caught on a familiar silver mask. He stood taller than the others in his circle of conversation, but his attention wasn’t on them.

It was on me.

My heart fluttered like a bird trapped in a cage, begging to be set free. A thrill of excitement shot