“I like you! I like you!” he belched drunkenly.

At least one of us was happy about it…

“Go on, pick one,” smiled Emily. It was her turn to wiggle her eyebrows at me.

I rested my fingers over each card that was spread out between both her hands. I lingered over one for a few moments before moving on to another.

It scared me sometimes when I thought about how the path of my life had rested solely on the card I chose. If I’d picked any other one – and, shit, I was inclined to in that moment – I wondered what path I’d have wound up in. It was fascinating that every choice, though inconsequential and minimal it might seem, could have such a drastic effect on your life. It was unfair actually. One minute you thought you were in control of your destiny and the next you were going in a different direction without stopping to take notice.

Control was an illusion. None of us had it. We pretended we did, but the choices that were made were based on the circumstances we were put in. A circumstance like a stupid dare card that gave you an act to follow – an act that had its own domino effect.

Hands shaking in adrenaline, I stopped thinking and pulled out a card. I turned it over and read it.

There were three words. Simple. Easy to understand. Yet I read the line with the three simple words over and over again. The irony… The goddamn, motherfucking irony! For some bizarre reason I wrote this damn card thinking that Emily would be the one to pick it.

Did I mention we were drunk when we wrote them?

“Well?” Emily’s impatience seeped out of her.

Damn you, Emily Jones, for deciding that right here and now was the time to pick a card! I held it out to her and she took it. Reading it, she burst into laughter.

“Glad you find it funny,” I snarled, snatching the card back.

Kiss a stranger, it said in my girly atrocious writing.

Kiss a stranger.

Kiss.

A.

Mother.

Fucking.

Stranger.

Rules were clear when it came to this game. I had to do it right after the card was picked. I looked around at the faces swarming in front of me. This was going to be so awkward. Every face I landed on was a middle-aged man, a pretentious teen, or a guy with an arm wrapped around a girl. There were some solo guys, too. Around my age. But none of them grabbed my attention. Not like it mattered. The kiss would be impersonal and quick.

Still.

These were my damn lips! I didn’t want to plaster them on a sweaty, smelly, unattractive man. I was a shallow girl when it came to hook-ups. I liked good looking guys, so sue me if I was especially particular about this.

I did notice some… potential choices, and was getting closer to picking one when Emily leaned into my ear and whispered, “What about the guy next to you?”

By reflex I immediately looked at the seat next to me, and then away.

Then again.

Then away.

With every quick glance I took in his appearance. It was a damn nice appearance too: an obviously tall man, maybe mid-twenties, wearing a tasteful black wool coat and dress pants. The first thing I noticed was his hand holding a thick hardcover book. His fingers were long and slim, and his skin was pale and smooth. This made his dark features pop right out of him: black thick hair a couple inches passed his scalp, thick eyebrows, long eyelashes, light stubble on a striking heart shaped face. I wondered if his eyes were just as dark too.

Fuck. Yes.

This was going to be my victim, hands down.

I turned back to Emily and smiled in agreement. Then I pulled out a pack of peanut M&Ms from my purse. This had to be timed right, I decided. I knew what to do. After all, it wasn’t the first time I made “accidental” meetings happen.

As the train slowed down at the next stop, grinding its wheels to a rough halt, I exaggeratedly flung to the side. Into this stranger I went, and my bag of M&Ms fell gloriously into his lap.

He looked up, startled.

“Oh, my God!” I said, feigning surprise. Someone needed to give me a fucking Oscar. “I am so, so sorry.”

I turned to him completely and began picking up the M&Ms that were over his coat and in his lap.

“That’s alright,” he responded.

I looked up for a second, taken aback by his unexpectedly deep, baritone voice. Then I resumed picking them up and settling them into my bag. My adrenaline was through the roof as I wondered just how I was going to plant my mouth against those plump lips of his.

His hand grabbed mine suddenly. When I peered down, I realized I’d been a little too close to his nether regions. Oh, God.

“I’m sorry,” I said, grimacing as he let go. I was sure I was ten shades redder.

He smirked and picked up the remaining M&Ms from his crotch and legs and settled them into my bag. “You don’t need to apologize. It happens.”

God, that voice.

He looked at me for the first time and our eyes met as I sheepishly nodded.

No, his eyes weren’t dark, I noted. They were incredibly bright; a shade of grey that screamed out of his face demanding attention. He looked at me just as interestedly. I’d put an effort into my appearance that day: faded skinny jeans, light blue cashmere sweater, new button up grey checker wool jacket. I left my chestnut brown hair down in waves and had perfected my make-up so that my green eyes popped out more than usual.

Oh yeah, I was hot. The kind of hot that could make men feast out of the palm of my hand. They loved me, and I loved them on back as long as I got what I wanted in the end. Hook-ups made me feel cherished. Made me feel like a queen in the warmth of a man. And at this moment, I suddenly wanted this man’s warmth.

I settled back into my seat, smiling confidently when his eyes followed.

“Are you headed to the Showgrounds?” he asked casually. Oh, yes, he was definitely interested.

I nodded. “Yes. It’ll be my first time.” Liar. I was just looking for something to talk about.

“I hope you have enough cash on you. It’ll be your typical tourist trap.”

“I’m ready to tackle on those showbags with every coin in my pocket if that’s what you’re referring to.”

He smiled, white straight teeth and all. “Yes, those are the ultimate gimmicks. You can’t walk out of the Royal Show without one.”

“Are you going, too?”

He shook his head. “Not this year.”

I felt a pinch of disappointment in my chest. I was used to small talk with strangers, especially guys who were trying to get a name and number out of me, but I’d never been as interested as this well-clothed, dark haired man with an English accent. There was something hard about him despite his fine clothes. A kind of hardness that you kept away from if you were smart and all that rubbish.