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A part of me screams not to go. Not because of anything that happened today. But the way my body responds to him …
You need to sell paintings and get your name out there. You can do this. It's for your career.
I nod. “Don't worry about my supplies. I know Rocky didn't mean anything by it.”
The sound of his name perks his ears up, and he whimpers before plopping his head back down on his paws. Poor thing. I hold my hand out, and Rocky comes over slowly, careful with his trust for me. When he finally lets me pet him, he's wagging his tail and nuzzling his wet nose under my arm.
“Come by the shop sometime this week around noon.” Cole eyes Rocky as the dog licks my hands over and over, trying so hard to get to my face. “Rocky ...” he warns, and I laugh it off.
“He's a good boy, aren't you? Aren't you, Rocky?” I fluff his ears, crouching down again to be eye level with him. His fluffy fur is partially wet, lots of sand coating his body, but he looks happy as a pig in shit. The beach is definitely his home.
When I've had enough dog loving, I look up to see Cole watching me intently. I can't read his expression—it’s one I’ve yet to see on him—but he looks grateful almost. I'm not the type to storm off when something bad happens. Dogs do dumb shit just like humans do. Let go and move on.
“Noon? This week?” Cole asks.
“Sure. That's doable.”
Cole hands me his business card from a waterproof pouch in his pocket. “My number and the shop’s number are on there. I'm sorry again about Rocky. I'd stay longer to chat, but my next lesson is starting soon, and I have to get back to close up.” He snaps his fingers, and Rocky appears next to him. “See you soon.”
He turns and takes off down the beach with Rocky hot on his heels. I watch him walk away as I clutch my bag and dripping wet canvases.
When he glances back and tosses me a small wave with his delicious half smile, I can't help but chuckle. He's gorgeous. And while he may be brooding and mysterious, he has a charming and funny personality. Something I doubt many people see, which is a shame. Whatever is hurting him underneath, whatever keeps him from smiling, I wish I could it take away.
A meeting with him at his shop.
This week.
A chill runs through me at the thought of working with him, being so close to him, in his space and all around him.
But we have to remain strictly professional.
No flirting, or kissing, and definitely no sex.
Good luck with that, girlfriend. He's hotter than the Santa Ana winds.
With a long sigh, I turn away from his deliciousness and start my walk home. People watching didn't help to inspire me, so I'm calling it a day. Sometimes my creative well just isn't full.
I also feel ... out of sorts, off balance.
It's gotta be the hangover. You haven't drunk that much in months.
Or the insanely hot sex you had with an insanely gorgeous man.
No, no. That can't be it.
It's definitely the alcohol.
Turning up the beach to the street above, I notice a few people ahead of me all standing a big circle. But what grabs my eye more is the one in the back. He looks out of place for around here.
With his bright red hair and fair skin. A short build with an air of arrogance around him. Familiar, familiar.
Oh, my God.
It can't be.
What in the fuck would he be doing here?
I abruptly stop in place and make a beeline for the other direction, moving farther over but closer to the street at the same time.
