I look down at my feet. They do look surprising good for a size thirteen athlete.
No flip-flops.
Barefoot.
I respect that she came out swinging anyway.
“Only for special occasions.”
“Is this a special occasion?”
I make a show of looking around.
“Pretty beach. Bonfires. Rich kids pretending they’re rugged. Yeah, I’d say so.”
That gets the tiniest movement at the corner of her mouth.
Not a smile.
A warning that a smile could exist if I perform correctly.
Useful.
I stick out my hand.
“Drew.”
She looks at my hand like it might be a trap.
“Congratulations?”
I laugh.
That one gets me.
Not because it’s nice.
Because it isn’t.
Because she says it with that perfect beauty queen face and enough dry bite under it to make it fun.
“Texas, right?”
Her eyes narrow.
“That obvious?”
“No,” I say. “You just look expensive and dangerous.”
Her friend makes a tiny choking sound beside her.
Texas doesn’t blink.
“Wow. Did you practice that in a mirror?”
“Don’t need mirrors. I freestyle.”
“That’s worse.”
