Page 6 of Fluke
I can’t help but laugh as he heads toward the front of Shade House, leaving the two of us behind.
The air shifts, engulfing me in the scent ofman—sweat and dirt and just enough exotic spices to elicit a chemical response from every woman within twenty yards. Despite the overt stare from the gorgeous woman at a table next to us, Jess focuses on me.
It’s a heady feeling to be the center of this man’s curiosity. He could give it to any woman in this restaurant, and they would soak it up. He’s the kind of guy who walks into a packed room, and within a few minutes, everyone seemingly knows he’s there.
And they want to talk to him. Why? Not just because he’s handsome but because he’s present. He looks you in the eye and responds with comments as if he’s actually listening.
People don’t do that anymore.
“Can I sit with you?” he asks.
“Yeah. Sure.”
He stands, towering over me with his six-foot-plus frame. His jeans are stained and ripped; his black shirt is torn at the hem, clinging to his muscled frame. It takes everything in me not to drool.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he says, sitting across from me. “How have you been?”
“I’m good. Working, unpacking—boring life stuff.”
“Unpacking?”
I grin. “Yeah. I just moved to Kismet Beach.”
His eyes widen. “Is that so?”
“That is so.”
His smile pulls mine along with it.
“Did you movealone?” he asks, prying.
I laugh. “Are you asking me if I’m single, Carmichael?”
“Yes, Plum.I’m asking if you’re single.”
My lips press together as I give him a look.His response? He chuckles.
Jess has asked me out at least once a year for the past fifteen years. I only saw him once last year—at a mutual friend’s birthday party—and he managed to slip in a dating proposal in the four hours we were together.
Sometimes it surprises me that we’ve never been an item. We get along famously. He is the definition of a catch. Our chemistry isn’t lacking in any way, shape, or form. But when we were younger, I knew my parents would murder me if I brought home anyone who wasn’t on track to have fancy letters after their name.
Now that we’re older—now that my parents have basically excommunicated me, andIcontrol my own life—hooking up with Jess hasn’t been a viable option.
Not that I would take the option if it were possible.
He licks his lips, and I shiver.
Doesn’t hurt to imagine, though.
“You know me,” I say, leaning back against my chair. “I’m never attached to anyone.”
As if he can’t take the added distance between us, he leans forward. His hands fold on the tabletop next to the carousel of condiments.
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you always single, anyway?” he asks, his head tilted to the side.
“Because boys are trouble.”
“Good thing I’m not a boy, then. I assure you—I’m a man.”
