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Laughing into my beer, I follow her gaze. "Which one. I see a few pretty great asses."
"Yeah," she says happily, making no effort to tell me which one she's looking at. She takes a swig of her beer, eyes still locked on the sand. Finally, she seems to shake herself out of her stupor, and turns to me. "So how are you? How are things going with Mr. Yummy?"
"Mr. Yummy?" I ask, my mind flying to Nick's dark eyes and to shaggy hair. Mr. Yummy is a perfect name for him.
"Come on, you know. Gabe? The hottie with the million dollar prosthetic?"
I snort into my beer. "Not a million dollars, but I get the idea. Is that what you're calling him? Mr. Yummy?"
"I am. Some of the younger girls are calling him Daddy."
I choke on my sip and have to lean over to catch my breath. Why the hell did I think it was safe to take a drink right then? Julia has no filter. I should have known she'd come out with something off center. "Jesus Julia. Super professional of you."
She rolls her eyes and flips me the middle finger, making me laugh. She's irreverent, and honest, and I wouldn't change a thing about her.
"I'm damn professional at work, you know that. But we're not at work now, are we, and I'm a single woman. Of course I noticed him. Do you think he's got a girlfriend? He must. Guys like that always do."
"I don't know Julia. I didn't ask."
She scrunches up her face at me and takes another sip of her drink. "I'm just saying, if he wants some one-on-one in-home sessions, give him my number."
"You got it," I say, holding up my beer, grinning as she clanks her bottle against mine. I'm not surprised Gabe's the talk of the office. He's a hottie, for sure. But he's also more than a little mysterious. The combination is catnip to the single women. Hell, even the married ones are speculating.
And okay, maybe I'm speculating a little bit too. The man looks like he could scale a mountain, fight off a bear, and skin a deer for supper, after building a cozy little lean to and a fire from sticks of course. How does someone so physically capable handle losing his leg? It's obvious he didn't bounce back, but where does he find the inner strength to go on?
Where can I find that same strength?
I thought I was the bounce back type. But I'm not. I'm the curl up into a ball and wail type. At least on the inside.
We linger a little longer, the jumble of work talk and gossip swirling around me, but eventually pour out to the parking lot. The DD's car fills up, and a few other sober ones head to their cars, bracing against the icy wind. I jump into my Jeep, waving through the windshield as my friends pull out. I don't linger, turning toward home, more than ready for a hot bath and a snack.
When I pull into the garage, I swing the Jeep in next to Cara's car, and shut off the ignition. I don't want to go upstairs. I'm facing either an empty apartment, or Cara and Declan being all lovey and gross. I don't know which is worse. Both options make me feel alone.
I'm happy for her, of course I am, but she's never been in a relationship like this one and it's pretty obvious I'm losing her. Oh, she'll always be there for me, but it's not going to be the same. I see the writing on the wall. She and Declan are it. There are babies and family vacations in their future.
Maybe I could be the nanny. I could just tag along wherever they go. I think I'd like that.
Letting my gaze drift over the ridiculously expensive cars around me, I freeze on a breathtaking sight. Nick, asleep in his truck, cheek resting against the window. Well, if this isn't the distraction I need right now. Nick is a force of nature, so seeing him like this is like peering behind the curtain at OZ. He's always smiling, making those dark brows of his dance and wiggle. The man is in constant motion. His stillness and vulnerability pull me toward him like a magnet.
Giving in to temptation, I quietly exit the car, shutting the door as softly as I can. I creep closer to him, letting myself look just a second longer. Pressing my palm to his cheek through the glass, I let my short fingernails dance on the window. I was trying to wake him up gently, but apparently Nick doesn't do gentle, instead rearing back with one arm up in a defensive position, the other cocked back in a fist.
I take a step back, startled, but I'm not really afraid. How can I be when he blinks sleepily, his gaze sharpening on me? Then that slow, stunning smile curves his lips. He shakes his head, runs his hands through his hair, then opens his door and slides out.
I work up close with people every day. Touching them, breathing the same air, getting right in their space. I am familiar with how people smell, especially after a long day and a hard workout. None of it bothers me. But Nick's smell? That mixture of oil, gas, oranges, and warm skin all blends into one enticing and distracting package.
I'm bothered. So what do I do? Get us back on the friend level.
"Hey sleeping beauty, sorry to wake you."
His nose wrinkles, and he tries to stifle his yawn. "I was just resting my eyes, that's all."
"Sure you were."
He laughs and leans back on the truck, casually crossing one leg over the other. "It's been a long week. I think I'm in vacation withdrawal."
"I know exactly what you mean," I say with feeling. "I can't seem to warm up since we got back."
"I could hel...never mind," he says, shaking his head.
