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“Yep,” I agree, and silence fills the space between us, along with a heaviness that wasn’t here before.
“Did you think I was him?” he asks while touching the tips of his fingers to mine that are resting in the sand at my side. “That I was the guy, Mike, when we first met?”
“Wouldn’t you?” I look over at him. “From what my sister found out, you’re some hot-shot soccer player living in London. So what were the odds that you’d be there?”
“If it were me you were talking to, doll, I wouldn’t have stood you up.” His eyes roam over my face, and I bite my bottom lip, then clear my throat and look away. It’s weird sitting next to him, having this conversation. Really, this whole thing is weird, like some kind of dream you know you’ll wake up from and then wonder what it all means. “Did you eat dinner yet?”
“No,” I respond without thinking, the question catching me off guard because it’s so off topic.
“Good.” I watch him stand and brush the sand from his pants before he holds out his hand toward me. I look at it, then him, and when I don’t take it, he shakes his head, leans down, and pulls me up to stand. “Let’s go eat, and while we do that, you can tell me all the stuff you and that catfish spoke about.”
“That’s not happening,” I deny, looking up at him as he towers over me.
“He was pretending to be me. I’m curious what he told you and what you two spoke about.”
“Again, that’s not happening.” I mean, really looking back, Mike and I didn’t talk about anything of importance. Our conversations were more about our jobs and just everyday life with a heavy dose of flirting. Honestly, I feel like even more of an idiot when I think about it now, because it was all so very superficial.
“All right, then we’ll talk about other stuff.” His fingers brush against mine, sending a tingle up my arm as we walk toward the beach house the girls and I have been sharing. “You can start off by telling me what your favorite kind of food is.”
“Snacks.” I glance up at him and smile when he chuckles.
“That’s not a meal, doll.”
“Cheese, meat, crackers, and fruit on a giant platter is an entire meal.”
“Maybe I should say that I’m not sure I can find anywhere that will deliver that tonight.” We take the stairs up to the deck side by side.
“Really, I’m good with anything you want.” I stop to grab my book off the chair I was sitting on before I go to the sliding door and open it. When he steps back for me to go inside before him, I do, then walk to the kitchen and place my book on the counter.
“I noticed you have a lot of books at your house.” He picks up the one I just set down and flips it over to look at the cover, which just has a woman in a sheer dress floating through the water. “Do you read a lot?”
“I do.” I grab the stack of menus we’ve collected since we’ve been here and hand them over to him while taking my book back. “Do you like to read?”
“I haven’t read since I was in school, and that was many years ago.”
“That’s very sad.”
“I haven’t had a lot of time to read.” He places the menus on the counter facedown, then fans them out. “Choose one.” Reaching over, I pick one from the bunch, and he flips it over. “Pizza.” His eyes meet mine. “I’m guessing from that face it’s not what you wanted.”
“I wasn’t making a face,” I lie, because I probably was. Pizza is good, but that’s been our go-to the last couple of days, and you can only eat so much pizza before you’re sick of it.
“Choose again.” He leaves out the pizza flyer from the pile, and I pick another, then smile when he flips it over and I see it’s for the Jamaican restaurant that I wanted to try but hadn’t had time to. “Much better,” he says, studying me before he looks over the menu. “Do you know what you want from here?”
“Stew chicken, rice and peas, with mixed vegetables. Oh, and a beef patty if they have it.”
“Have you had Jamaican food before?”
“Often. One of my best friends, Toya, is from Jamaica, and she’s an amazing cook. Have you?”
“Only when I’ve been on vacation in Jamaica.” He pulls his cell phone out of his back pocket and dials the number on the menu.
As he places the order for our food, I study him in the light of the kitchen, noticing a small scar above his upper lip and another larger one just over his brow that disappears into his hairline, both making him look a little more interesting. His photos that were used on the app didn’t do him justice. Or maybe it’s just this version of him that I like a little more than the guy I was talking to. It probably helps that he’s real, so real I can reach out and touch him.
“They said it should be ready to pick up in about fifteen minutes. Are you up to riding with me to go get it?”
“Sure.” I shrug, then glance down at what I have on. The tank with a built-in shelf bra and pajama shorts are something I’d normally wear to bed, but with the sweater over it, it doesn’t look too indecent. It’s just standing next to him fully dressed to go out that makes me wonder if I shouldn’t change into actual clothes.
“If you’re worried about what you have on, don’t be. You look—” His eyes roam over me. “—fine.”
“Thanks.” I laugh at the lame compliment and turn with the intention of telling him that I’m going to go change, but my breath catches as his hand wraps around my bicep and he’s suddenly in my space. So in my space that his chest bumps mine as I take a breath.
“If I told you what I really think about how you look, I have a feeling you’d run from me. And I don’t want to risk that happening,” his voice rumbles, and my thighs squeeze together to fight the tingle between them. “Okay?”
“Okay.” I lick my bottom lip, and his eyes drop to my mouth.
