In a world of money, fame, and all the champagne that came with it, Camsy Colbert, the famous wedding planner, was alone. But it was fine; she was totally cool with being single. Men could never hold a steady relationship anyway.
She's invited to he...
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"How good is it?"
"What?"
He turned, pausing for our gazes to lock. Breaths catching, I struggled not to break eye contact. His eyes were so brilliant.
"The alcohol," he clarified.
"Um..." another breeze passed. This time, I broke eye contact with Parker to look down at my toes. Looking up at him again, I asked, "what do you mean?"
"People say alcohol makes you forget your sorrows." He thrust an index finger towards the bottle in my hand, making me look down at it. "That one's not doing its job."
My eyes flickered back up to his, an almost transparent smile playing on my lips, realization smacking me in the face. "You're not an alcohol person?"
"This is my first time drinking." He offered an equally transparent smile before going back to staring into space.
"What did you want to forget?"
The moment those words left my lips, I regretted them. His attention snapped to me so fast. It was a wonder he hadn't gotten whiplash. But just as soon as the regret had come, it dissipated when he smirked. I shivered, not because of the cold this time.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" He lifted a brow. "What's your name?"
"Camsy," I offered in a breath. "Camsy Colbert."
He hummed, "Camsy." It was like he was testing the name on his tongue. And then his eyes lit up slightly, lips stretching into a dashing smile. "I like it."
Half of me wanted to remind him that you didn't get to like or dislike someone's name. You just knew it. I shoved that half aside because this smile-and maybe the alcohol-had left me unable to stir arguments. I leaned towards him so that from my new position, I could see more of his features. His lashes looked longer, and some strands of hair were sticking up because the sweat on his forehead had dried.
"What's yours?"
"Parker."
"Parker..." I repeated, my lips forming a drunken pout. "You don't look like a Parker."
I opened my eyes slowly, squinting when a burst of sun rays invaded my vision. With a hand still over my eyes, I got off my bed and went to shut the blinds, frowning.
In all honesty, I didn't know what to call that. A nightmare or a good dream.
My head ached as a picture of brilliant green eyes formed in my mind. I struggled to fight the image, a hand on my hip and the other against my forehead.
