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Holy shit, what a morning.
Maybe she should come see the sunrise a little more often. In the short half hour she’d been sitting there, Andy had gained more intel on the guys she’d been spying on than she had in all of the past three weeks.
Most notably, she now knew where they lived. As soon as she’d heardhimshouting behind her, Andy had turned on the bench and tracked the sound to the condominium complex down the street, and there he’d been — her Henry lookalike — sporting that silly tote and that sexy smile. A sexy smile he always seemed to be wearing.
Yes, her Henry was the smiley one of the bunch. Even now, as she peered through her binoculars, she could see him gliding effortlessly over a wave in the navy blue trunks he favored, his bangs plastered to his face along with a huge grin. That grin was one of the reasons she was so drawn to him. It made him appear so playful, happy, and easy to read.
Andy really liked easy to read.
She alsoreallyliked Henry Cavill, so yes, that was another reason she was intohim. There was currently a giant sketch of her celebrity crush taped to the back of her bedroom door courtesy of Andy’s artistically inclined roommate. Kory had drawn the dude in fullWitchergarb, with the long white hair, glowing eyes, tree-trunk legs, and everything. It was glorious. And probably the best birthday gift Andy had ever received aside from Petals.
Andy had read somewhere that when Henry Cavill wasn’t busy making blockbuster movies and shows — shows that were way cooler than stupid asshole teen dramas — that he was actually into video games and geeky fantasy stuff. Just like her.
Andy hopedherHenry was as awesome astheHenry. He really seemed like he could be. Especially when he’d flashed her that surfer sign. Their eyes had met only briefly — his so deep and brown, hers concealed but sparkling — but, oh, that moment had been magical.
It had also revealed something else about the man she’d been secretly spying on. Namely that her spying wasn’t quite the secret she thought it was. Because when he’d flashed her that sign, he’d also tipped his chin in the way that guys did when greeting one of their friends. Someone they were familiar with.
Andy had no idea what she did back. Maybe she smiled at him behind the high collar of her jacket. Maybe she met his chin tip with a head bob that made her look like a chicken.
Probably the latter because she was indeed a chicken. So much so that she’d sat glued to her bench as he’d walked off, wanting so much to say hello, but too scared to take that step. So she’d just sat there.
Then, inexplicably, she’d felt the oddest compulsion to turn around. To look back up at the people on the balcony he’d been shouting at. And that’s when she’d learned something else. That’s when she’d learned his blonde friend was one big ball of freaky-deaky.
She’d also learned — thanks to her favorite binoculars — exactly what the man’s face looked like when he was having an orgasm. And she was filing that one away under “too hot to handle” and “never to be revisited again.”
Who was she kidding? Her sights had already shifted to Mr. Freaky-deaky himself, who was, at present, crouched low on a white, gray-trimmed board, his backside up and facing her way as he cut into a wave that was maybe half as tall as he was.
And then,whoosh, he whipped back around, and she could see his face, and damn…
There was that familiar look of ecstasy.
Look away. Look away.
Andy shifted her sights to another guy, this one just as he was catching air off the top of a wave. So much air that he was able to flip a pale yellow surfboard all the way over under his feet before landing cleanly on it. The move was met with a boisterous reaction from the other surfers in her field of vision and a rare grin from the man who’d pulled it off.
He was her Henry’s other friend. And probably, the best surfer on the beach. She’d been watching the three of them for long enough now to be sure. They were all amazing, of course, but this one was just jaw-dropping.
And probably panty-dropping as well with his longish black hair that curled just so, his deep natural tan that spoke of some Pacific Islander heritage, and all those long, lean muscles. Yeah, he was sinfully gorgeous too.
But scary.
Way scarier than even the blonde.
Out of the water, that is. While surfing, he was relaxed, occasionally smiling enough to show teeth. But out of the water, the dude had the kind of resting bitch face that would frighten small children. And small women with binoculars.
Yeah, no thanks. She’d stick to obsessing over her Henry.
Speaking of, she really shouldn’t keep thinking about him asher Henry.
The odds of his name actually being Henry were statistically quite low.
Andy frowned as she lowered her binoculars, suddenly feeling quite irritated with herself for being such a chicken earlier. If she’d just waved back, maybe her Henry would have stopped. Maybe he would have walked over to the bench and said, “Hello. My name is Mike” — or Clark, or Sherlock, or possibly even Geralt — and then he might have said, “I couldn’t help noticing those binoculars you were using. Are those Nikon Prostaffs?”
To which she would have replied, “Why, yes, they are. The 3S model. They deliver 8X magnification, they’re waterproof and fogproof, and they’re great for birding, camping” — stalking surfers — “and canoeing.”
Then he would probably have said something like, “That’s awesome. Where can I pick up a pair of those?”
And, of course, she would have very coolly and nonchalantly answered with, “Just swing by my store sometime. It’s the ManCave on Delta Boulevard. I can get you ten percent off with my employee discount.”
