I mind my business and everyone around me seems to do the same. In the city that never sleeps, there’s always something happening. And I’m not interested in a damn one of those somethings. Distractions get a bad rap for a reason.

Grabbing my purse and keys in the same hand, I make haste, opening the car door to step out in a rush, but my eyes glance back to the cars and straight into a man’s gaze.

Not just any man, a man exuding power and confidence, along with defiance. Although he’s wearing a simple shirt and faded dark jeans, the way he wears them makes me think they were made to be fitted to his muscular body. He’s hot as hell, and given the way he looks at me, he could be a temptation the devil made just for me.

My driver side door shuts with a loud bang as I stand there caught in the heat in his gaze. He leans against the hood of a car, I’m assuming is his, a shiny black Mercedes that reflects the light from the store in its slick exterior. The windows are rolled up and tinted so dark it’s hard to see the inside. As my eyes move back to the man, my movements are slowed and I grip my keys tighter.

He doesn’t stop looking, taking me in and letting his eyes follow along the curves of my body. Arrogance and sinful thrill dance in his cocky grin. He obviously wants me to know that he’s watching me. Something about that small fact forces a blush to rise to my cheeks.

My breathing picks up and I subconsciously pull the hem of my dress down just slightly, smoothing out the cherry red pleats and wishing I hadn’t been wearing it all day. I take one step and the click of my heels keeps time with my racing pulse as I walk forward, knowing I have to pass him on my way in.

I can’t help that my eyes flicker over to his as I grip my purse strap and settle it in place. His shirt is pulled taut and over his muscular frame and his tanned skin is decorated with ink. Tattoos travel down his chest and arms, peeking out below his collarbone from the crisp white cotton shirt and leaving a trail of intricate designs all the way down to his wrists. I’m too far away to see what they say or what they are. I know if he were in a suit, the tattoos would be hidden, but something tells me he’s proud to have them on full display.

“What are you up to?” he asks me and catches me off guard.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I answer him easily, although I don’t know how, swaying a little from side to side in a flirtatious way I didn’t intend. My body can’t help but be attracted to his. Some part of me is eager to know how his tattooed skin would feel against my fingertips.

There’s a scar over his left eyebrow and it’s subtle, but even from this distance I notice it. As his deep rough chuckle fills the night air and drowns out the other sounds of the city, I find myself wondering how he got it.

“A man can wonder, though,” he says, causing a hot blush to creep slowly into my cheeks. I bite down on my lower lip, but that doesn’t stop the shy smile from showing. I have to stop and give him the attention he’s looking for as he leans forward, holding me captive to whatever’s on his mind.

“You’re pretty, you know that?” he says and I roll my eyes. Even if I know this flirtation isn’t just for me, that he’s simply playing with me, I still enjoy it. I crave it even. I’m sure he’s already used these lines tonight.

“Sure, and you’re not too bad looking either.” I enjoy the flirting, the attention. At least coming from him. He makes me feel things I haven’t before.

He splays a hand over his heart and cocks his head as he says, “Well thank you, beautiful, I aim for ‘not bad.’” This time I’m the one laughing, a short, soft snicker as I kick the bottom of my heels against the ground and stare at them for a moment, readying myself to say goodbye and end his bout of teasing. I don’t trust myself not to say anything and instead I just wave and carry on, expecting him to do the same.

“You didn’t answer me,” he calls out after I take a few steps. “What are you doing out here so late?” he asks. It’s forward of him and I usually despise that, but instead I savor the challenge in his voice. Something about it tells me he thinks I’m already his. And that ownership makes my blood that much hotter.

I know I shouldn’t give him any information at all, but I find myself telling him the truth before I can stop myself. “I’m hungry and overworked. So I stopped to grab a bite to eat.”

“You’re getting your dinner from here?” he asks, gesturing to the store and I nod. “A woman like you should be taken out, not eating dinner from the gas station.”

A woman like you plays over and over in my head. He doesn’t know what type of woman I am. “You don’t even know my name,” I say, the half smile and challenge firm on my expression.

He nods and grins, flashing me a cocky smile as he replies, “Don’t make me guess.”

I chew on my lip for a moment, rocking from side to side. He’s bad news and I’m flirting with fire … but I love the thrill. I can’t deny it. “It’s Kat,” I tell him and a smile is slow to form on his face. One of complete satisfaction, as if hearing my name is the best thing that’s happened to him all night.

“I’m Evan,” he says and I taste his name on the tip of my tongue, nearly whispering it. “Let me take you to dinner, Kat,” he suggests with an easiness I don’t like. I wonder how many times that’s worked for him before.

“I’m not your type,” I respond, intentionally looking past him at the bars that wrap around the glass door to the convenience store. I just need a late-night snack to hold me over till morning. That’s all this little errand was supposed to turn into.

“I don’t think you should tell me what is and isn’t my type.” Although it comes out playful, there’s a hint of admonishment, and my naïve little heart doesn’t like that. “You might be surprised,” he adds.

I clear my throat and try to breathe evenly, wanting this flirting session to end so I can get back to work. I have to admit the attention is very much appreciated, though. And the desire in his eyes looks genuine.

“Sorry, Charlie, didn’t mean to upset you,” I tell him with a playful pout as I walk past him.

“It’s Evan,” he says, repeating his name and that makes a wicked grin play at my lips, “and you’re wrong.” The last part is spoken with a seriousness I wasn’t expecting. His tone is hard and when I turn around to face him fully, finally taking a step onto the curb, he’s no longer leaning on the hood of the Mercedes. He takes a few strides across the asphalt parking lot and stops in front of me as I ask, “Wrong about what?”

Up close he’s taller than I first thought, more intimidating too and his shoulders seem broader, stronger. Even his subtle moves as he brushes his jaw with his rough fingers and licks his lower lip again, are dominating. He glances to the left and right before opening his mouth again and letting that deep, rough voice practically ignite the air between us.

“You’re wrong that you aren’t my type and that I’m not your type.”

The compliment makes my body feel hotter than it already is in the hot summer night. Someone behind me exits the store, the telltale jingle of the bells and the whoosh of air-conditioning reminding me that I’m supposed to be in and out of this store. Reminding me that Evan isn’t a part of my to-do list tonight.