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This man blew all those other photos out of the water.
Or maybe it was because he was so close, his familiar scent drifting my way. An aphrodisiac for my soul.
“Y-you…,” I finally stammered.
“Me.” He swiped a bottle from where he sat on the sand and took a sip. Then he held it out to me.
I wasn’t sure how to act, which version of him I was talking to. Was it the man whose eyes flamed as his hands examined my leg at the restaurant? Or was it the indifferent, brooding surfer who barely uttered a single word to me this morning? There was only one thing I knew with any level of certainty when it came to him… He was damn near impossible to read. To interpret. To analyze.
After everything I’d been through, I needed to be able to analyze. Needed to remain two steps ahead.
Needed the upper hand.
“Thanks for the offer, but I should probably get back.”
“You probably should.” On a deep exhale, he lowered his head. Something akin to disappointment crossed his normally unreadable expression. “I’m not the best company right now anyway.”
I hesitated, the compassionate part of me wanting to sit with him, make sure he was okay. It was more than apparent he’d been drinking, and pretty heavily, judging from his slurred words.
But that part of me was at war with the part that didn’t trust anyone, even myself.
So I offered him a nervous smile, then turned back the way I’d come. I only made it a few steps before his voice consumed me once more.
“My sister’s dead.”
I paused in my tracks, the anguish exuding from those three words hitting me harder than I thought possible. I didn’t know him or his sister, yet it was hopeless to not feel for him in this moment of vulnerability, especially after how hard and impenetrable he’d seemed during our previous encounters.
Turning, I met his blue eyes once more. But this time, there was something different. Like he’d chipped away at the harsh exterior he wore and allowed me a brief glimpse of who he was.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not telling you so you’ll feel sorry for me,” he interjected gruffly. “More so you’ll understand why I was, as my cousins put it earlier, a fucking arsehole. Or asshole,” he corrected, over-enunciating to make it sound more American.
I remained silent, ignoring the urge to ask more questions. I didn’t want him to close up like he did before. When he let down his guard, allowed himself to be candid, as he was now, he truly was beautiful. I knew I shouldn’t have been thinking of him like I was. But I couldn’t stop myself.
“Do you want to know the fucked-up part? The part I can’t seem to wrap my head around?”
The power in his voice hit me deep in my bones, turning my insides into a tangled mess of uncertainty and nerves.
“What’s that?” I took a hesitant step toward him.
When he lifted his eyes to mine, I swallowed hard, that same heat and intensity with which he gazed at me earlier tonight returning. But it was even more profound. More compelling.
“Since I met you this morning, I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”
“Oh.” A shy smile crawled on my mouth, and I bit my bottom lip to reel it in.
“Here I am, having just lost the only family I have left, facing ghosts I prefer remain dead and buried…” He swiped the bottle and gulped down another long drink before continuing, “yet at the mere thought of you, my heart starts beating for the first time in years.” He barked out an incredulous laugh and shook his head. Then he peered up at me, desperation filling his expression. “All because of some woman whose name I don’t even know.”
I parted my lips, but his thunderous voice gave me pause.
“Don’t. The only thing keeping me somewhat sane is that I don’t know your name. How can I feel this connected to someone whose name I don’t even know? Granted, I’ve certainly been with girls whose names I don’t remember, but that was different. You’re different. And it’s driving me fucking crazy.”
He dug his long fingers through his hair, tugging at it with such ferocity, I was convinced he’d rip every single strand out of his scalp. Then he shot to his feet, yanking the bottle from the sand and spinning from me with an uneasy sway.
“You should definitely go home. Stay as far away from me as possible.” His final words came out as a combination of a threat and a plea.
I stood mute as he ambled up the beach, bottle in hand.
