Page 55 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

“Aren’t you coming?” I say as he comes closer.

He points at the water. “In there?”

“Yeah.”

“No way,” he says. “It’s cold, and my pants will get wet.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s notthatcold”—maybe a tiny exaggeration—“and your pants will get wet, so what?”

“They’re my dress pants.”

“Dex, I thinkallyour pants are dress pants,” I point out. “They’ll dry, won’t they?”

When he doesn’t answer, I smile. “Ha,” I say, and okay, maybe I’m gloating. “I’m taking your silence as a concession. You know I’m right, Dex. Come on. Just a little bit? It will be good for you.”

“Enlighten me,” he says, his mouth crooking into the tiniest of smiles, his eyebrows rising skeptically.

I fold my arms and hit him with the truth. “If Valencia were here right now, she probably wouldn’t get in the water either, and it would be for the same reason: she wouldn’t want to get her nice clothes wet.”

Dex gapes at me, and for a second I regret my words. I mean, I think they’re accurate. But maybe I went too far?

I push my hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ears and feeling suddenly sheepish. “I—sorry. That was out of line.”

“No,” he says, looking surprised. He rubs the back of his neck. “It—it was true.” He glances at me, then down at his pants, and then…

Dex crouches down, tugs off his shoes, and rolls up his pant legs.

He rolls his eyes as I cheer him on, but he’s trying not to smile. It feels like a personal achievement when he wades slowly toward me, his face pinching like he’s just eaten a lemon as the cold water registers.

“Look,” I say, holding out the seashell I found.

He looks at it. “A seashell. What about it?”

“What do you mean? It’s pretty. See?” I point out the purplish-pinkish ridges, the white underside, the deep coral interior.

He shrugs. “I guess.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t rain on my parade. It’s pretty, and I’m keeping it.”

He smiles at me. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s very pretty.”

I laugh. “Don’t patronize me.”

But Dex doesn’t answer. “You’re cold” is what he says instead, looking at me with concern. It’s only then that I notice I’m shivering slightly, rubbing my arms up and down for warmth.

I shrug, smiling. “I’ll be okay.”

He hesitates, his gaze skating up and down my body, then says, “Here. Take this.”

And then he takes off his shirt.

Button by button he removes it, his chest slowly but surely coming into view. Then he tosses the shirt to me and I almost drop it because I’m focused on the very shirtless man now in front of me.

“Okay, wow,” I say, wading closer to him. “You havesomany muscles.”

His eyebrows lift in surprise, and he glances down at his chest. Then he looks back to me, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have a normal amount of muscles, I think.”

“Well, I guess everyone has the same number of muscles,” I concede, “but yours are…you know. Nice.”

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