Total pages in book: 14
Estimated words: 13369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 53(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 53(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
“Even though I don’t have a parrot on my shoulder?”
“In spite of your parrot-free existence,” I say with a smile, enjoying the hell out of the view of her. “You’re fast on your feet, but you’re not wound tight. You have a low-key vibe about you. And you’re easy to talk to.”
Brooke lifts her margarita glass, like she’s toasting to me. “I’ll drink to good conversations. You’re easy to talk to, as well.” I can’t look away as she sips her drink. She has spectacular lips. I noticed her full red lips when we first started talking, even if my vision was a little fuzzy.
I’m glad I did fall victim to another guy’s boarding fail because this moment right here is pretty damn great. Talking about the world around me with a beautiful, smart, caring woman rather than football, football, football is a welcome change. From…everything.
The last woman I dated was into me for the number on my back. The number of times Jenna asked me to pose for pics so she could tag me was too high to count. She was always talking about how she was Number Eight’s gal, trying to parlay our relationship into more business at her lingerie store.
Sure, I’m all for high sales of lacy underthings for everyone, but that was not a way to make a guy feel wanted.
I have a lot to offer besides the position I play on Sundays, like a sense of humor, a big heart, and an even bigger dick. Bonus—I know how to use it.
Just saying.
One drink turns into two, and Brooke and I talk more about our favorite places in Los Angeles, and the best spots for people watching in the city.
The sun is sinking low in the sky when she asks, “And what’s the story with the paddle boarding? Hobby? Passion? Are you new at it?”
“Admit it. I looked like a noob.”
She laughs, then shakes her head. “No, actually. You seemed pretty good. Like you’d been doing it for a while.”
“I took it up last year. I’ve been having a blast so far,” I say, then knock back some iced tea. “What about you? Have you been reading for a while?”
“Did I seem like a natural reader?”
“Absolutely. I saw you on the sand before I went out,” I reply, teasing. “You just had such an ease when turning the pages.”
“Well, if you must know, I’ve been reading since I was five,” she says.
“Whoa. I learned to read when I was five too,” I deadpan.
“What a coincidence.”
“We both like the beach and we both like to read,” I say.
She lifts her drink. “But only one of us gets to drink a margarita.”
I inch closer. “Maybe next time we both can.” I leave that offer right there. Today is too much fun to be a one-time thing.
She licks the corner of her lips, then meets my gaze, her blonde locks falling over one eye. “Next time sounds like a good idea.” Then she finishes her margarita and sets it down. “On that note…” She sits up straighter, gathering her things.
Wait.
What?
I wasn’t done with this time. “Do you need to go?”
She blinks in slight confusion. “You said next time…I thought you meant you had to take off.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Are inferences like technicalities for you? Something you look for a lot, Brooke?”
She shrugs sheepishly. “It’s what I do. I’m an attorney, and I can’t help but find loopholes, technicalities, and I’m always paying attention to inferences, Andrew.”
Okay, if I’m hinting at a second date, and she’s told me what she does for a living, I really need to come clean about my identity.
“Actually, everyone calls me Drew,” I begin.
She lifts a brow, her lips curving up too. “So you want me to be like everyone?” Gently, she pushes her sandaled foot against my shin.
I push back, my flip-flop against the side of her calf. “Considering my mom is the only person who calls me Andrew, and she usually only says it when she’s mad, I do want you to be like everyone.”
She smiles. “Then I will be. And I’m still Brooke.”
“Good,” I say. I glance around. No one is close enough to hear. “So, Brooke, where do you—”
“We don’t have to talk about work, Drew,” she says gently, giving me an out. “Unless you want to. But if you don’t want to, I’m kind of enjoying all this not talking about it. It was a helluva week.”
Oh. Well. That never occurred to me—the we can table it for later possibility. But hell yeah. “Same here,” I say, relieved. “Everything with work’s up in the air for me.”
Her eyes spark. “Me too. I was hoping something would happen with a job thing I wanted. A promotion. It didn’t, and I came to the beach to escape.”
“Same. I sort of don’t know what’s happening next.” That hasn’t changed, but I don’t feel as frustrated as I did this morning.