You're in the club, on the sidelines as you sip your drink. You're not in the mood, but some people from work dragged you with them, so here you are. You wish you were home, doing whatever the hell else, so you aren't exactly in the mood.

But then a tall, broad-shouldered blond guy with blue eyes bumps into you, his hair shaggy and an almost platinum color. You blink a bit, almost stupidly, before he gently pushes past you.

"Sorry sweetie, got someone to hunt down." He gives you a smile—a pretty one, goddamn it, why does his beard make him look so good?—as his hand lingers on your arm. His voice is smooth, with the lightest hint of a Texan accent, and even if you aren't a hundred percent into Texans...damn. "I'm Hawley. Nick Hawley." And after getting a marker and scribbling his number on the back of your hand, he quickly kisses your cheek and gets moving.

Huh. What an odd guy...