She’s glancing around at the other partygoers with interest, a slight smile on her face and her foot tapping on the ground to the beat of the music that is playing in the background. I scan my eyes down her body before she sees me, noting the long white skirt she’s wearing that hangs almost to the ground, with a wide, brown leather belt cinched around a narrow waist. She has on a white shirt that hangs off both of her sun-kissed shoulders, revealing just a tiny shadow of cleavage.

Absolutely beautiful…in a fresh, bohemian sort of way.

When I get no more than five feet from her, her eyes slide to mine and she gives me a cautiously welcoming smile.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” I tell her as I stick my hand out. “I’m Garrett Samuelson.”

She accepts my hand, and although the bones in her hand look fine and delicate, she gives me a firm grip and a tinkling laugh, “Of course I know who you are. Star right winger for the Cold Fury. Everyone who is a hockey fan knows you. I’m Olivia Case.”

Her smile is wide and open, revealing perfectly straight teeth cushioned by lips that would make Angelina Jolie break down in a fit of jealousy. Holy shit…they are perfect. Just the most perfect set of lips I think I’ve ever seen.

Now that I’m closer to her, I notice that her hair is an actual riot of colors, with big, thick chunks of amber, honey, and chocolate streaks. Her eyes are a mossy green and she’s sporting the sexiest little diamond pierced through one nostril.

Putting on my most dazzling smile, which I know for a fact pops my killer dimples, I can’t help but hit her with brutal honesty. “I’m sorry…but you are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”

It’s true. That is not a pickup line, although if it gets her in my bed…score!

She chuckles and flutters her lashes at me. “Pretty lame, Samuelson.”

“I’m dead serious,” I tell her in a low voice. “You’re stunning, and I just had to tell you that. But now…sadly, since you think that was a cheesy pickup line, I will just be on my way. It was a pleasure to meet you, Olivia.”

I turn away from her, but her hand immediately shoots out and rests on my wrist…just as I expected. I can tell she’s not one to turn down a challenge. “Wait a minute, tiger. If that was a true sentiment, then thank you.”

Turning around, I give her a grin. “So, I can stay for a while in your magnificent presence?”

Olivia throws her head back and laughs, her eyes lit from within, and I notice large, sparkling gold hoops in her ears, adding to the overall gypsylike allure of this woman.

“Only if you lay off the cheesy lines,” she says.

“Okay…you apparently know who I am and what I do. So, tell me about yourself.”

“I’m an astrophysicist,” she says solemnly.

“You’re kidding?” I ask, astonished, because why isn’t she wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a pocket protector?

“Yeah…kidding. I’m a nuclear engineer,” she deadpans.

I cock an eyebrow at her and hold her stare.

Reaching her hand up, she fingers a delicate gold necklace with a peace symbol charm. “Well…actually, I’m a floral designer by trade. I work at a little shop called Fleurish in Chapel Hill.”

“Ahhh,” I say with a sage nod. “I took you for an artistic type.”

She arches a beautiful, golden brown eyebrow at me, which gives me a hint at the true color of her hair. “Artistic type? What gave that away?”

Shrugging, I tell her, “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s the way your hair is colored…almost like a beautiful painting of a sunset. Or maybe it’s the bohemian vibe you give off with your long gypsy skirt and little gold toe ring I noticed.”

I nod down toward her foot, because, yeah, I saw that tiny piece of jewelry down there too.

Her head drops and she holds her foot out for inspection; it is encased in a pair of white leather sandals with peach-colored crystals dotted all over them. “You’re pretty observant,” she muses as she sets her foot back down.

“When something interests me,” I respond. “So, do you have a boyfriend?”

Her head snaps up to me and a small grin forms on her face. “Nope.”

“Husband?”

“Nope,” she says as she holds her left hand out and wags her fingers to show me no wedding ring.

“Lover?”

She smirks at me. “No.”

“Potential lover?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

“No,” she says and chuckles.

“Damn,” I say miserably as I clutch at my heart. “So there’s no hope for me?”

“Not at the rate you’re going,” she quips, and it makes me give a hearty laugh in return. She’s fun to jest with.

But playtime’s over.

Leaning in toward her, I ask in a low, seductive voice that has garnered me dozens of dates before, “Is there any chance at all…no matter how miniscule, that I could get you to go out with me?”

She takes a small step back from me, which probably means the amount of charm I just laid on her was sorely lacking.

“Sorry,” she says with a sympathetic smile, “but I don’t think we’d have a lot in common, so I’d have to decline.”

“Now, that’s just throwing in the towel a little too soon,” I chastise her. “How do you know we wouldn’t have anything in common?”