Page 1 of The Bleeding Hearts Club

Prologue

Congratulations! You have been selected to attend the Bleeding Hearts Club single’s event sponsored by Cupid Corporations after review of your detailed profile and preference questionnaire.

Bleeding Hearts Club is a five day beach retreat filled with sea, sun, relaxation, and a little romance!

Individuals, like yourself, will have the opportunity to mingle with each other through various activities planned by the Cupid Corporations matchmaking committee. Each activity has been catered to you, the individual, to optimize the matching process and probability for love that will last an eternity.

Join us in Lugosi Bay and find what makes your cold heart beat.

Chapter 1

Mina

I’m going to burn this place to the fucking ground.

It’s one thing to just be running late at the airport. That’s normal. However, this. This is a shit storm.

Not only did I have two days to plan for a 5-day beach vacation I had no idea I was going on, but I had to get things squared away with my boss, pack, and figure out where Poe was going to hang out while I was gone.

All thanks to my beautiful and wonderful best friend. I snort.

My frantic prepping had me up last night washing clothes causing me to sleep through my alarm. So not only did I wake up almost two hours later than I wanted to, but when I went to grab the clothes from the dryer, they were still damp. DAMP!

Do not listen to anyone who says damp clothes are not cringe inducing. They are sociopaths.

Now, I’m here. In the airport before 8 am, trying to get through all the necessary security for a flight that is already starting to board, aka, they have already called my section to board, and I was stuck in the metal detector trying to explain to the TSA agent that I did not have a weapon, that it was in fact just my nipple rings.

God, smite me now.

It’s a lost cause at this point. It’s been almost thirty minutes since my section was called and I still have to get through the bag checks. Instead of following the flow of people going to the checkpoint area, I turn down the right wing toward the food court.

Might as well get a bagel.

But that doesn’t work out any better.

God, this asshole cannot go any fucking slower can he. Who the hell needs six bags of luggage anyways. Why—Is he walking backwards?

Oh shit. No. No.

I duck to the left just before the man knocks me over, only, instead of walking out of the line of trampling, I walk straight into it. A solid wall slams into me. And just like in the movies, slow motion ensues. I watch the world fall with me, seeming like an eternity before my ass finally crashes to the floor.

RIP to my fucking tail bone. But that isn’t even the icing on this glorious shit cake. It’s the fact that I watch as this man’s cup of coffee falls, gracefully–fucking gracefully, like a damn ballerina–pouring all over my torso.

FUCK! Hot. Hot fucking coffee. Goddamn it. Fire. Fire to burn down this god forsaken motherfucking piece of shit—

“I–” a nervous voice chokes above me.

I pull at my soaked shirt, brushing my dark hair back from my face. The whole Grudge and The Ring girl look ain’t really “airport chic”. A tanned hand flashes in the corner of my eye. It’s, well, kind of pretty. Yes, I know that’s weird, but this hand is elegant. Hand-model-status pretty, and it extends into a just as equally elegant and beautiful forearm. Eye candy when you watch a guy roll his sleeves.

Is QVC filming in town? What the fuck? Female gaze who?

I wrap my hand around his, his grip firm as he tugs me swiftly from the ground. It took no effort at all, which shocks me more than the art-gallery level of classical beauty this man has in a single pinky. I’m not a small girl.

Well, I’ll take that back. I am barely hitting 5’1”, but I am chunky. Not cute like, “Oh, I’m dainty curves, and they’re in the right places,” which, eww, but I’m very much a plus sized woman. Like I don’t know who has sweeter rolls, me, or Texas Roadhouse. And this guy just single-handedly lifted my ass off the floor, enough so that I stumble into him once I’m on my feet from the momentum.

He’s tall. At least a foot over my head, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

His bright blue eyes are wide behind a blonde fringe falling just over the bridge of his nose, and nervous energy rolls off of him in waves.