The Kiss

had shifted in her view of him—maybe it was that she no longer hung on his every word—and tried his best to be his most charming self. He complimented her hair, her eyes, and her sense of fashion. He even told her he’d noticed her the very first day of classes, and that she’d looked gorgeous in that short pink dress she’d been wearing when he first saw her.
    Eliza hadn’t owned a short pink dress since she was eight years old, and hadn’t attended the first day of classes because of the flu. Still, she appreciated the effort. She nodded and smiled, all the time wondering how on earth she hadn’t noticed sooner that the man was full of crap. They’d never had an actual conversation before, but she should have realized that everything about him was rehearsed. His smile was just the right amount of sad and promising; he had the puppy-eyed look down to a T; and when he was supposedly paying attention to what she was saying, he was covertly scanning the crowd.
    Alan Mayfield , the guy she’d been pining over for a while now , was a player, and she never would have found out if it hadn’t been for her mysterious kisser.
    And that was how her mind went back to that kiss—the most perfect kiss she’d ever shared with someone outside her imagination. Having no clue who the guy she’d shared it with was made her want to scream.
    Alan was saying something about how her fingers were graceful, like a pianist’s, while caressing her wrist with his thumb. While he enjoyed the sound of his own voice, she considered the men at the tables around her. Only those close enough could have possibly had time to kiss her and get back to their table before the lights went on, and there were only three tables that fulfilled that condition.
    Alan offered to go for a second round of drinks, unwittingly giving her time to evaluate her options. She recognized the cute, well-built guys sitting at the table to her left. The one in the middle was a teaching assistant, and the other two were from his dorm. Their usual clean-cut, what-you-see-is-what-you-get faces tonight sported stubble, and Eliza remembered hearing the TA—Cam or Sal, if she wasn’t mistaken—earlier that week, whining about an assignment that wouldn’t let him get any rest. She smiled at them, and they all smiled back. Oh, well.
    She wouldn’t really mind if her mystery kisser was any of the three.
    It could have been either of the guys sitting right opposite her, too, though she truly hoped that wasn’t the case. One was dressed like a biker, the leather pants and Harley jacket clashing with the thin wire frame of his spectacles and the glass of white wine in front of him. The other was just too flashy for her tastes; she never went for guys wearing more color than she did, and his turquoise jacket could surely be considered more , even if she’d had the entire rainbow on her. The thought that she shouldn’t judge a book by its cover briefly flitted by her mind, but her thoughts were drawn to the third table of possible kissers.
    She’d have known if it had been Greg. His lips were drier, and he’d always made that sound when he’d kissed her . S ome kind of combination between heavy breathing and a moan. It had once made her hot, but the thought of it now raised her hackles. There was no way it had been Ethan, either. Ethan would have stuck his hand up her skirt or grabbed her boobs if he’d kissed her, plus he was clean shaven. Nate was out of the question, too, so that left Bill, who was now giving her an adorably goofy grin.
    Nate noticed and smacked the back of the other man’s head, rolling his eyes dramatically. God , he never failed to get on her nerves. Worse, he obviously thoroughly enjoyed it.

Chapter Two

    Two Years Earlier

    Eliza was early at the coffee shop, but she didn’t mind. The fact that she still had about half an hour until Greg arrived meant that she had enough time to compose herself perfectly, so she’d look her best when he first laid eyes on her.
    She and Greg had been dating for nine weeks, but intimacy between them was still an issue. It wasn’t just the physical aspect that was lacking; Greg seemed to want to keep her at a safe distance, and she supposed that was part of his charm. He was the tall, dark, and handsome type—the guy who didn’t need to talk much, but whose words carried substance when he did. Public displays of affection were out of the question for him, and she was entirely fine with that. Being a