I can practically feel the warmth infused in that single-syllable word. He says it like we’ve been friends for ages, like I already know his middle name and which elementary school teacher was his favorite. My lips quirk before I press them together to maintain a neutral façade.
“Do you live here?”
He laughs, deep and rumbly. “No, I live in a tiny apartment with three other guys.”
“That sounds like a lot of man-stink per square foot. Are your noses for decoration only, or is Febreze more of a lifestyle?” Sneaking a sip of soda, I glance up.
His mirthful gaze has no right being this mesmerizing. The corners of his mouth lift to a dazzling degree, and is that? Yup. He has a dimple. But only on his left side, which weirdly makes him more attractive? Must be something about the asymmetry.
Okay, so this guy is crazy hot. Big deal. Ask him some questions.
“Where are you from?”
I follow my question with another deep draw from my cup. Is thereanything betterthan fresh Dr. Pepper?
That dimple winks at me. “How do you know I’m not from here?”
“You’re not.”
I’ve been around Californians my whole life. There’s something about him that’s off, like he doesn’t quite fit in.
“I’m not really from anywhere,” he admits. “We moved around a lot.”
“Navy brat?”
When his jaw twitches, just slightly, an electric sensation tingles down my spine. I’m close to something; I just don’t know what.
“No.” He shakes his head, glancing into his cup. “Are you a local?”
I ignore his question, replacing it with my own. “Where did you live the longest?”
His blue eyes return to mine. Wow. They arecrystalclear.
“Arizona.”
“I’ve never been,” I offer to soften him. If I want to get to the bottom of that jaw twitch, I need to be less obvious that I’m digging.
“Too busy surfing?” There’s an almost flirty tilt to his lips before he takes a sip of Sprite.
A flush of heat spreads over my collarbones. I shouldn’t be so thrown by his astute observation. My hair is still tumbled from this afternoon’s paddle out, flowing halfway down my back in messy waves. I’m wearing my trusted glitter Vans with a half-dozen rope bracelets on my left wrist.
I look like the quintessential surfer girl.
It’s just…in my experience, most men don’t pay attention to what you’re saying, let alone what you’re wearing.
I lick my lips to keep from smiling. “What gave it away?”
“The wave tattoo just below your leash tan line.” He nods to my right ankle.
This time of year, I’ll usually wear a full wetsuit, but the water had been so unseasonably warm last weekend that I’d worn my shorty. After a week of sitting in the library, studying for finals, the tan line has faded considerably. The fact that he spotted it, that he even noticed my tiny tattoo behind my ankle bone…
Tilting my head, I reassess him with fresh eyes. “Interesting.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
This time, the zing of electricity doesn’t have anything to do with getting to the bottom of a story.
“When you lived in—” My words die mid-sentence when I catch sight of my ex, Cal, crossing the open-concept living room with his arm draped around Courtney’s neck.
