By the time I’m closer, one of the guys glances toward a wave, says something to the others, then turns and starts paddling fora set rolling in behind us. He catches the first wave, riding it like a king.
Fine. Two is still better than one.
I paddle the last few strokes like a woman with a plan and not someone fleeing a possible stalker situation.
Then I get close enough to actually see them.
Oh.
Well, that’s unhelpful.
The blond one is broad through the shoulders, all sun-browned skin and strong lines, with his sandy hair shoved back off his face. Deep-set gray eyes, sharp jaw, and two-day stubble that somehow seems intentional instead of lazy. He’s pure temptation, and that’s before I add half a naked chest full of muscles and water sliding down it. Damn, he’s hot.
His friend is just as sinful. Auburn hair down to his shoulders, dark eyes that nearly read black under the morning light. Freckles scattered across his nose and shoulders. He’s watching me intensely as I approach.
Both of them are built as though the ocean assembled them for a joke at my expense. Wow. I was not emotionally prepared for hot men this early in a crisis.
I pull up beside them, floating, and sit up on my board, trying for casual, which immediately becomes harder because a wave lifts my board at the last second and I wobble hard enough to nearly slide right off.
The auburn-haired one reaches out, catches the nose of my board, and steadies me before I can fully embarrass myself.
“Smooth entrance,” he says. His voice is dry, not mean but amused.
I recover with as much dignity as possible, which is to say not much. “I like to keep expectations low.”
The blond one’s mouth twitches.
Okay, good. They’re human after all and possibly mockable.
“Morning,” I say, pushing wet hair off my face. “Don’t mind me. Just arriving with all the grace of a sedated seal.”
That gets a short laugh out of the auburn-haired one. The blond one studies me properly now, gaze sliding over me. “Haven’t seen you out here before,” he says.
I give them my brightest smile. “That’s because I enjoy mystery.”
“Or because you’re not from here,” the auburn-haired one adds.
“Wow. Strong detective work. Is it the face?”
“It’s the way you introduced yourself after almost falling in.”
I put a hand to my chest. “This feels hostile before breakfast.”
The blond one lets out the faintest breath of a laugh. It changes his whole face for half a second, making him look less carved and more dangerous in a completely different way.
I should leave.
Instead, I hear myself say, “So is this a locals-only situation, or are you two always this welcoming to women enjoying the beach?”
Their eyes flick toward me at the same time.
The blond one studies me for another second. “You surf much?” he asks.
I raise a brow. “Are you asking because you’re interested in me as a person, or because you’re about to get territorial over a wave?”
“Could be both,” the auburn-haired one answers.
Well. “I’ve been surfing for a couple of years,” I explain. “And based on current evidence, I’m doing more of it than you two. You’re mostly just sitting there looking handsome and undercommitted.”
