Living in Coral Bay meant I was living the job—but I loved it and the town. It had so much more life than Blueshore. I’d made new friends too—like Evangeline, the florist I now ordered all my flowers from.
It also meant I had a place of my own to bring a date. And by date, I didn’t mean someone I wanted a future with. I was building my own future alone, thank you very much. I loved my life—my circle, my job, my freedom, my peace of mind. I worked hard and played harder.
I wasn’t looking for love or a boyfriend. No. I’d decided that now that I actually liked what I saw in the mirror—my hair finally cooperated, my face shed the acne and awkwardproportions of puberty, and I figured out how to highlight my best features with makeup and clothes—I was going to enjoy it. To live out every fantasy I used to only imagine. I slept with gorgeous men I used to think were out of my league. A few I allowed to stick around for a while, until I got bored, or they got clingy, or the sex turned bland.
Which only confirmed what I already knew: monogamy wasn’t for me.
Besides, freedom was my armor. It let me stay untouched and always walk away first.
No-strings-attached wasn’t just my thing, it became my gospel. I practiced it, preached it.
Once, a wedding guest at the inn confided that all her friends were getting married and asked what she was doing wrong.
“Wrong?” I told her. “You’re the one doing it right, not them. Eat life with a big spoon.”
So when Rio and I went out one night to The Shore Thing—the new beach bar that had popped up in Blueshore—I walked in like I was born to party.
At some point, Rio, sipping her drink, said, “Don’t look, but that guy at the bar isveryinterested in you.”
I barely glanced. By then, I was used to being looked at—something high school me would’ve called a glitch in the matrix.
“If he comes over, we’ll see,” I murmured over my cocktail.
“No, wait. He looks ... familiar. Seriously, don’t look now.”
Of course I did.
And my heart screeched to a halt.
He wasstanding at the bar, half-leaning against it with a beer in hand. Tall. Broad. Quietly magnetic in a way that made other guys fade into the background. His hair was a tad longer than I remembered—dark waves that circled a face that was now all angles, stubble, and a jawline that made you forget your name. His shirt stretched across strong shoulders, sleeves hugging biceps that looked carved from marble.
And those brown eyes. Still sharp, deep, warm. Aimed straight at me.
I recognized him instantly.
I stood up, walked straight over, watching his gaze track every step I took.
“Sebastian,” I said, stopping in front of him.
He smiled—an experienced half-smirk, half-smile I didn’t remember him having. “Ruby,” he said. “I wasn’t sure.”
“Still me,” I said, and instantly realized that saying it tohimmeant more than it should have.
“I can see.” His gaze swept down and back up, and mine did the same.
Was he still him on the inside?
“Visiting your parents?” I asked. “I heard you moved to Houston?”
“Yeah. NASA. I’m a junior structural engineer there.”
I nodded, impressed. “So all those years ofDeep Space Ninereruns didn’t go to waste.”
He chuckled. “No. I guess I’m technically a rocket scientist now.”
He was still geeky underneath that beautiful exterior. Still familiar. Still funny.
I grinned. “And you have veins now.”
