Page 22 of Camera Shy

“I’m Avery,” she mumbles, looking up at the pergola strung with lights above us, refusing to look at me. “Avery Scott.”

“Well, Avery Scott, I’ll let you enjoy your evening.” I take a step backward as a test.

“Wait!”

Thankfully, she passes.

Her smile reminds me of the one before, from the car this morning. Genuine. Sincere. She must be starting to relax. Especially now that she’s probably aware I’m not here to rob her. “Don’t be silly. You clearly wanted to use the hot tub. I’m pretty much done.”

I nod at her. It’s a bit of a reach, but I take my shot. “Or maybe we both stay? Do you want some company? I can share my beer,” I say, raising one brow. “I’d love to find out what the hell a brand strategist is.”

To my great surprise, she slowly nods. I really thought she was going to take the out. “Sure. Sounds good. But could you turn around first and close your eyes so I can grab my towel? I’ll put on a swimsuit and come back.”

I set my six-pack down on the deck where I’m standing and walk over to fetch the fluffy green towel draped over the patio chair behind us. Squatting down near the edge of the tub, I offer her the towel. With my other hand, I point to the far side of the hot tub. “I can just stay on my side and I told you, I can’t see anything.” I force myself to lock onto her peculiarly light eyes and don’t dare let my gaze scour what it wants to.

“Thank you,” she says, matching my stare with a clipped smile. “But it’s not so much that I’m topless…it’s that I’m not wearing any bottoms either.” Avery points to the deck, where I should leave the towel, and then rotates her finger in the air. I rise, then obediently follow directions and spin around. I even cover my eyes.

I hear the water falling off her and splashing into the tub as she must be climbing out in a hurry.

“Okay, I’m decent.”

I spin back around to see Avery secured in the oversized green fluffy towel. She’s a little shorter than I was picturing. I’m barely over six-foot, yet I really tower over her.

“I’ll be right back.”

She makes her way through the glass sliding door, leaving me alone with the tub, my beer, and a whole lot of anticipation for a night that just got far more interesting.

* * *

“Want one more?” Finn asks, removing the last two bottles of Alaskan Amber from the cardboard six-pack. Using the bottle opener he brought, he pops both lids.

“Why not? No one’s driving tonight. We can be sloppy.”

He smirks. “Two beers get you sloppy?” He rises and crosses no man’s land, finding me on the opposite side of the hot tub. He holds out one bottle. I take it, but this time he stays on my side. I don’t blame him. We’ve basically been shouting at each other across the tub for the past twenty minutes. It’s hard to make conversation over the loud rumble of the jets.

“Nope, but three might,” I say before taking a swig of the fresh beer. Mmm. It’s crisp. I took too long to finish my last bottle and did not appreciate the bitter, flat end, warmed by the steam of the tub.

“Cheers to sloppy then.” Finn points over my shoulder to Dex’s house. “Your commute home seems manageable.” He shoots me a little wink and I purposely ignore the flutter in my chest.

Finn is easily the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in person. I’m thoroughly convinced he accidentally wandered out of some woman’s fantasy and got stuck here in reality. He’s even fitter than I realized this morning. Runners are usually lean. The way he had his legs secured with athletic tape, I assumed he’s a serious runner, but up close it’s clear that his exercise routine includes far more than cardio.

His entire left arm is tatted as well. I’ve seen a lot of tribal sleeves but never something like this. I can’t make out all the pictures with his arm bobbing in and out of the water, but the image starting on his broad, muscular shoulder is a ghost pirate ship. The sails are tattered, and there’s half a skull on one of the main sails. The intricate designs show off some seriously impressive artistic ability. I’ve never seen a tattoo like this, which should be slapped on a canvas and hung in a museum.

It really adds to Finn’s already peak-level attractiveness.

Which actually makes it much easier to talk to him.

I am not one bit nervous about sharing a beer and a conversation with the Adonis next to me in the bubbling hot tub. The reason is simple. He’s so damn hot that I’ve friend-zoned the shit out of him. He’s in the no-touch zone, locked in a box, key flung into the ocean, because there is no way on God’s green earth that I can handle an unrequited crush situation right now. He’s so far out of my league, it hurts. But he’s also funny and smiley, and our conversation is a welcome distraction from the fact that I’ll be spending the night alone.

The first night by myself. I left my home and moved immediately onto Palmer’s couch. This will be the first night I’m truly by myself and have to face the music that this is my new reality. Alone.

“So what exactly does a brand strategist do?” Finn asks as his baby blue eyes lock on mine. Obviously, he has pretty eyes and dark lashes that accentuate them. Because all Grecian gods have sexy eyes that can stun you into oblivion.

I take a quick swig of my beer. “The simplest way to explain it is I evaluate brands and provide them with guidance on how to adjust their marketing to monetize and scale.”

He blinks at me. “That’s the vaguest response I think I’ve ever heard.”

I laugh. “Okay, how about this? I help brands come up with a game plan to be visible and competitive. So I do a lot of industry research and help companies plan their branding image. I consult on everything from logos and print material to blueprints for product packaging if they sell tangible products. I do web design and help develop a pricing strategy.” I raise my brows at Finn. “I could continue...”

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