Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Do you just want me to leave you here with your salacious imagination?”
I pretend to look around. “Not sure there’s room for both of us.”
“I was a little worried too,” she says, then adds, “he also lives in the Marina, or so I’ve heard. So maybe that helps you with the how-to-spend-the-five-hours-until-your-flight quandary?”
I shoot her a quick look. “Genius,” I say, then I resume gawking at the guy at the dunk tank.
His smile is easy, the kind of careless, slightly arrogant grin that men who throw or catch balls for millions of dollars can sling around.
Hmm. Perhaps I like arrogant smiles too.
It’s a smile that’s hard to look away from though. Especially when he laughs, teasing a kid at the front of the line made up mostly of men.
The beanpole of a teen tests the weight of a baseball in his hand.
“I’m waiting. Just lounging on the dock all day,” Nate shouts as the young guy hurls a helluva baseball toward the target.
Then…splash.
The Adonis falls, and I believe I have an Aquaman fetish now.
He shoots up in the tank, tips his head back, and slicks a big hand over his wet hair, smiling.
“Well done, man,” he says to the skinny teen, then he climbs out of the dunk tank and grabs a towel. His shift must be over. But when the teen walks over and asks for an autograph, the Adonis complies with a smile.
Sarah drops a kiss onto my cheek. “Go get ’em, tiger,” she says with a purr, then she waves goodbye. “I’m going to find a frisbee game on Crissy Field to crash.”
“You do you, love,” I say.
“And same to you. Sort of,” she says with a wink, then takes off.
I return my gaze to the man. I’m going to find a way to talk to him. Yes, he’s sort of famous. He probably has heaps more experience than I do.
But I’m not afraid to take chances.
Never underestimate the power of a very hungry libido.
3
DUDE LUCK
Nate
When I get out of the dunk tank, I’m not even sure where to start. I haven’t picked up a guy in ages. I met Oliver at the gym, for fuck’s sake. He was my trainer.
I’m such a cliché.
If I talk to a guy here at the carnival, will I look like a pro baller trolling for available dudes?
Yes, Nate, you will and you are.
I drag a towel over my hair, and while I’m contemplating the perils of singletude, I spot one seriously sharp-dressed man.
He’s wearing the hell out of dark blue pants that hug his legs in all the right ways.
Nice and tight.
His short-sleeve shirt teases me by showing a smattering of blond hair at the top of the buttons. He’s like a young movie star with golden-guy charm and the most fantastic dimple I’ve ever seen.
All that and he’s standing only a few feet away, looking right at me.
Why did I waste my Internet research time on that thing? I should have googled opening lines.
I scramble for something clever but only manage a quiet hi.
“Hello there. I’m so devastated that I missed the chance to hit the target in the dunk tank.”
Whoa. The sexy Brit is way more smooth than I am. He said dozens of words and I uttered, count ’em, one. But I play a sport for a living and my job is to think on my feet. “So, you wanted to take a shot?”
And that’s only marginally better than hi, though at least I managed a few more words that time.
“I did,” the Brit says, his brown eyes glimmering with humor and interest. “I have a good arm, after all.”
“Do you now?” I ask, eager to just keep this up.
“I do. I can also be quite persistent when I want something,” he says, and Mister Brit is suave, but not subtle.
Thank you, Fate, for sending me a bold dude for my first day back out there.
This is like a winning hand in Vegas.
Trouble is, I’m stuck here for another hour. I can’t believe I’m going to use pies as a come-on line, but…desperate times. “Do you like pie?”
He laughs, seeming bewildered but game. “Sure. Who doesn’t?”
“If you like throwing it, I’ll be at the pie toss for the next hour. If you wanted to swing by, say, around two fifty-five, that’d be perfect timing.”
“I’ll be there. I’m Hunter, by the way.”
“Nate,” I say, then we shake hands before he walks away, leaving me with the perfect excuse to check him out from behind.
Did Dude Luck just drop a hot, sexy Brit in front of my path today?
Yes, Dude Luck did.
But I can’t be that lucky. I bet he won’t show.
Fifty-five minutes later, I’m covered in apple, berry, crust, and whipped cream.
Easily fifty aluminum tins are scattered on the ground. I peer through the hole I’ve been sticking my face in, scanning the crowd. The line is thinning, the afternoon finally winding down.