Page 3 of Crazy for this Girl

No, he brought his A-game out with the ideal outfit for his body type, and I bet the guy didn’t even try. I’m just hoping he’s not one of those demeanor guys who thinks he’s better than everyone else because he’s cute and charming.

Cal doesn’t stop until he’s underneath my deck, which means I have to stand and peer over the railing to look down at him because I can only see his forehead.

“Hey,” I greet back without the same excitement. “What’s up?”

“Wanna show me the best fishing spot around here?” He covers his eyes with his hand, blocking the brightness of the sun, and I notice he isn’t equipped for what he wants to do.

“Where’s your fishing pole?”

Cal rubs at his forehead. “Wanted to see the spot first.”

I lift a brow because he’s disturbing me and my morning routine. No matter how attractive he is to look at in the daylight, I don’t feel like giving a grand tour of his new digs and the area surrounding it.

“There’s not really a supreme spot,” I retort. “It’s just luck and skill.”

“Where do you go?”

I shrug dismissively. “Here and there.”

He smiles at me again, like I’m slow and not understanding what he wants. I quickly pry my eyes away because those green eyes are vivid and soul-sucking. He looks like one of the teenage heartthrobs in my BOP magazines, but I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.

Josh Goodman was nice to me once. He was the new kid in school, needed some friends, and I welcomed him with open arms because that’s just who I am. Tell me why a few weeks later, he realized I wasn’t one of the popular girls and began using me as target practice in gym class for dodgeball? Let’s not forget the time he looked under my skirt on the monkey bars and told everyone what color my underwear was.

So, I stopped setting myself up for disappointment from boys and plainly stay away.

“Describe here and show me there,” Cal muses, then nods at me. “You wanna show me when you’re done reading?”

“Yeah.” I bob my head, hoping he forgets, but I appreciate that he noticed the book in my hand.

“Alright.” He pivots and starts back toward his two-story cabin without looking back.

I go to sit again, opening up my book, when shoes hit the wooden deck of my porch seconds later. Looking up, I see Cal is back with a magazine in his hand.

What the heck?

“I could catch up on some reading too.” Without my offering to make himself at home, he plops down onto the rocking chair beside mine and cracks open an issue of Cosmopolitan.

I lift a brow at his choice of reading material, because how many guys have you ever seen picking that one up? “What are you doing? Where did you get that?”

He glances over at me unfazed, then back at his magazine. “I’m reading, and from my mom.”

“You do know how to read, right? That’s a chick magazine.”

“Says who?” He cocks his head to the side, interested in his page, and pushes his cheek out with his tongue. Clearly, he’s comfortable educating himself on beauty and style, so I return to my novel.

It only takes two more minutes for my new neighbor to crash into my sentence again and open his mouth.

“Let’s see if you have a type,” he chimes in, making me tighten my fingers around the edge of my hardcover. “They have a quiz in here.”

I shake my head; maybe if I show him no attention, he’ll shut up. “Those are stupid.”

“Yeah, but this one is super quick.” He holds up the publication higher and kicks one of his legs over the top of the other one like my dad, completely ignoring me when he says, “Do you prefer your partner to be different or similar to you?”

I wrinkle my nose and glimpse over at him. “What kind of test is this?”

“It’s called Finding Your Perfect Boyfriend Match. Interesting stuff.”

Not really.

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