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I chuckle, appreciating his dry humor. For a second, our hands graze when I compensate too far to the left to dodge a particularly deep crack in the pavement and nearly trip. He notices and cracks a smile, but resists laughing.
My hands find their way to the fluffy pockets of my robe—to avoid any further unintended hand flirtations. “So what brings you to Dreamwood? You here with anyone?”
“A classmate,” he says.
“Classmate? You go to school nearby?”
“The other side of the causeway, yep, right by where I live. But I rarely come here. He thought it’d be a good idea for me to get away from my usual scene to check out a new one, see if it sparks any crazy ideas in my head.”
“Crazy ideas …?”
“I’m an artist. Didn’t I tell you that already?” He seems to reconsider that. “Well, I think I’m an artist. I’m trying to be. I’m … I’m not as sure anymore.”
A car rushes by packed full of shouting, happy twenty-somethings, their music so loud, it drowns out the pair of us for a moment. Quintin glances over his shoulder at them, watching as the car disappears down the street, his eyes seeming lost.
I wonder where his mind just went. “So … you’re a student at that little community college off the causeway?”
“Sorta,” he says, his gaze still lost on wherever the car flew off to. “I’m enrolled in their summer arts program.”
“And you’re just here for the weekend?”
“Yep.”
We’ve rounded the next corner, coming along the other side of the block. Across the road is the Breezeway Point beach, but this particular section of it is dark at night.
“For pretending to be your buddy who’s always on-call with emergency diarrhea medication,” says Quintin rather suddenly, “the least I should know is your name.”
“Oh, right, sorry. Adrian.”
“Nice to meet you, Adrian. Quintin, just in case you forgot. You live here, I take it?”
“Is it obvious?”
“You exude a vibe that’s very—Okay, are we really just walking aimlessly?” he asks, cutting himself off and coming to a stop. “Or are we actually headed somewhere? I don’t really have a car full of meds.”
A row of beachfront houses to our right, the roaring beach across the street to our left, and an occasional car whizzing by are our only company. For a town that’s alive tonight with parties and drunk people, it’s surprisingly peaceful over here. “I’m just enjoying the fresh air right now and chatting with you.”
“Me too. Been a while since I held a conversation with something that isn’t a blank canvas or palette knife.”
“You hold conversations with palette knives?”
“I talk to my art sometimes when I’m making it, yeah. Don’t you talk to your workout equipment when you’re at the gym or whatever?”
“No.”
“You will someday. Wait.” He faces me with a stern look on his face. “To be clear, I am not coming on to you.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Uh, okay …?”
“I’m really not,” he says a touch firmer. “This wasn’t some weird pick-up trick with me coming to steal you from that other guy or anything.”
“Are … you seriously implying that I might think your Pepto savior trick was your version of a pick-up line?”
“Maybe.”
Now I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, no worries there. Sex couldn’t be farther from my mind right now.”
“Good. And besides,” he adds flippantly, “you are so not my type.”
The tears of laughter dry in my eyes. “You already told me that.”
“Did I? Muscly and gorgeous doesn’t do it for me.”
“So … you think I’m gorgeous?”
“I’m not coming on to you. It’s just an indisputable and obvious fact I’m stating. I mean, for fuck’s sake, have you looked in a mirror?”
I don’t know if he’s messing with me or really is this blunt. I’m having trouble keeping up. “Uh … thanks?”
“‘Lead with honesty’,” he recites, spreading his hands in front of him. “That’s what my dear dad taught me. Then he wanted me to give up art school and become a lawyer in his and my brother’s footsteps. Comedy at its finest.”
I nod and gaze at the side of his face. “Well, I like your honesty.”
He folds his arms, then quietly says, “Thanks.”
I decide to return the favor. “I guess I should say you aren’t really the type of guy I hook up with either, so—”
“Good. That means we’re both safe to let our guards down, right?”
“Uh … right. Exactly.”
“So there’s no need to worry. I’m not hitting on you, and I won’t take you back to my hotel.” He frowns. “Not that I have a hotel to take you back to. I’m staying with my friend, my classmate. On his cat-hair-covered couch.”
“Your friend is a local?”
“Yep. He’s new here himself, actually.”
I think I’ll circle back to that. For now, I lean against a light post we stopped next to and eye him. “You never said what vibe I exude. You interrupted yourself earlier.”
