He glanced that way now, and Jean wondered if he was about to bust out some previously unseen moves. She tried to imagine him in seduction mode, blushing as he stammered out ahey, girl,orcome here often?
“Do you really want to?” he asked, in a confidential murmur that sent a surprising shiver up her spine. Nerd flirting for the win. Maybe shyness was her kink.
Coming back into the moment, Jean realized he was looking not at the bed but the table beside it—and more specifically, theJournal of Slithery Things.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” If they’d been acquainted for more than five minutes, he would know that about her, but Jean didn’t mind giving him the CliffsNotes version of her personality.
Another quick glance at the bedroom and then back at Jean. “It might be a little boring.”
“You haven’t bored me yet.”
“Really?” He looked like she’d given him a dozen roses. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“Nah, I’m not a sweet talker. I’ll pretty much always either straight up tell you the truth or go so far rogue that reality is a distant planet.” She meant it to be reassuring, like pointing out a guardrail, but he looked a little spooked. “Option A in this case,” Jean said, before quickly changing the subject. “Speakingof your article, does it have illustrations? I did some technical drawing for a dissertation once, and I’m thinking snakes must be a lot easier to draw than horseshoe crabs.” She paused, considering her audience. “No offense to snakes. I’m sure they’re very complex.”
“Oh, they are.” It looked like he had plenty more to say, but he stopped himself cold. Jean wondered who had taught him not to go off on his pet subject, as if there was something wrong with having unusual passions. The odder the better, as far as she was concerned. There were few things more disappointing than people who oozed through life with no intriguing quirks. No thank you, sheeple.
“I suppose I’d know more about them… if I’d read your article.” She let that sink in, softening him up. “Must be pretty cool to see your name in print. It’s probably in the table of contents and everything.”
It was an obvious cue to introduce himself, but it flew right over his head. He was in his feelings again, a sideways S taking shape between those inky brows as he studied the floor. He raised his eyes to her face, full of earnest interest. “What’syourname?”
“Jean. As in, a pair of, but singular.” She gestured at her lower body, though she was wearing the regulation white shorts, not jeans. “I could tell you it was short for Eugenia but then I’d have to kill you. Which seems like an unfortunate end to a promising friendship.”
“Oh.” He blushed at the last word, looking equal parts pleased and startled. “I’ll call you Jean then.”
“I have a name tag, but I never remember to put it on.” Leaning toward him, she lowered her voice. “Kind of like you with pants.”
More jaw rubbing, though it couldn’t hide the redness of his cheeks. Jean took a step toward the bedroom, sensing he neededa push. Otherwise, he might still be dithering when the sun came up.
“Where were we? You came inside, you started reading, and…?”
“It rained. A lot. We never get rain like that where I’m from.”
“Death Valley?”
“No, though I’ve always wanted to go. They have sidewinders!”
“I… did not know that.” She waited for him to go on, but he seemed to have forgotten the original question. It was hard to tell whether he was easily distracted or didn’t like talking about himself. “So where are you from?”
He ducked his head. “Um, South Dakota.”
“Deadwood?”
“Not far from there. Do you know Bear Butte?”
“I do now.” She gave his towel a significant look.
“Oh, well. It’s not that type of bare. More of the claws and teeth kind.” He cleared his throat, glancing at her from under lashes so thick they were like windshield wipers inside his glasses. “Usually people ask about Mount Rushmore.”
“I’m unique.”
“Yes,” he agreed, a smile breaking free.
“Don’t try to butter me up, Dakota. What happened with the rain? Did you leave all your clothes outside? Or is this a lifestyle choice?” She gestured at his bare torso. He placed his free hand there, covering a few inches of skin and hair between his pecs.
“I left the sliding glass doors open. The rain came flooding in. There was so much of it.” He looked troubled at the memory. “I tried to clean it up, but the floor is still pretty soggy.”
Somewhere along the line he seemed to have missed Rich People 101. They tended to be quick on the trigger when it came to blaming the resort for the most minor of inconveniences, even if it was their own fault. He could have demanded a newroom or a cleanup crew or a spa gift certificate for his troubles instead of a few measly towels.
