Page 155 of Finding Our Reality

What if it’s a disgruntled customer? With a shiv?

What if it’s an IRS agent? Did I pay all my taxes?

She looks down at me, lifting her eyebrows. “I think this guy is the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen.” Then, she grunts, “And, ouch, by the way.” She kicks my hand away.

Sighing in relief, I roll my eyes. “He’s gonna hear you.”

She shakes her head. “They stopped to look at the sales rack next to the door.”

One by one, I poke the clips back into their container. I giggle, making myself snort.

She nudges me in the butt with her foot. “What?”

“I was just thinking that we really need to discuss what classifies as an‘oh shit’moment. Dropping your keys in a porta potty? That’s an ‘oh shit’ moment. Literally. Catching your panties in the zipper of your shorts? That’s an ‘oh shit’ moment. Dropping your chewing gum in the open casket of your neighbor’s dead mother? That’s an ‘oh shit’ moment. Seeing a sexy man?” I jump up from the carpeted floor. My hair tangles around me, shrouding my face. Spitting a strand from my mouth, I fling it out of my eyes and spin around, finishing my thought. “That’s not an ‘oh shit’ moment.”

My heart drops into my stomach.

Standing in front of me, with a drop-dead sexy smirk etched across his face, is the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen.

Kyra covers her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle her laugh. Slamming the paperclip container in her hand, I scowl at her, telling her through best friend telekinesis that I’m not amused.

“And I assume all those things happened to you?”

His voice coats my eardrums in honey. The low timbre sends a chill down my spine. It’s something I haven’t felt in a long time. A very long time. And in all honesty, I don’t even know if it’s a welcome feeling. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. “Pardon?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Keys in the porta potty? Gum in the casket?” His tongue darts out, licking his lips, “Panties in the zipper?”

Oh, shit. The way he just said the word panties…

A bright red blush creeps across my face. I can feel it. Burning me, scalding my skin. I glance down, pretending to wipe something from the counter. “I apologize for my words, sir. That was very unprofessional of me.” Squaring my shoulders, I glance up, forcing myself to look into his eyes. “May I help you with something? Are you looking for something in particular?”

He cocks his head to the side, studying me. He doesn’t know what to make of my apology, I guess.

He really is gorgeous. Achingly gorgeous.

He’s really tall. Built. Firm and muscular. His light blond hair is styled short but still long enough to see the thick waves, just begging to be touched. His eyes are the brightest, most intense shade of blue—they almost look fake.

Azure.

I think they call the color azure.

And the color is even more offset by his tanned skin and the spattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

My fingers itch to count those freckles, itch to trace the lines of his face and playfully tug on the two-shade darker facial hair lining his square jaw.

He smiles.

A knowing smile, a smile that says…that’s right.

I think he can read my mind.

He drags his hand across his face, rubbing his fingertips across his lips and chin. The thick cord of muscle in his forearm jumps, twisting with the motion.

Somewhere behind him, someone makes a sound. A whiny moan. He shifts to the side, and for the first time, I see who he’s with.

A fake blonde with fake boobs, fake eyelashes, and a fake tan. And she’s wearing a short, tight dress that would definitely look more at home in a Vegas nightclub than a children’s shoe and clothing store. I look down at my own tank top, linen shorts, and tennis shoes, before glancing back to her. I think her ass may be fake too. Butt implants?

So, he’s one ofthose.

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