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Tessa flashes me her flirty smile—as if that would even work on me. “Yes, you can.” She spins around, tilting her head to the group of men passing by us on their way to the great and spacious yacht. One of the men curves his lips up in a sultry way as he makes eye contact with her. “See what I mean? There are so many gorgeous, single men going to this party. They’ll make you forget all about Zak.”
I glare at the group of guys with their perfect hair and perfect muscles. The last thing I want is to replace Zak with a “new Zak.” I just wantmyZak—well, the version of him that is ready to settle down, get married, and have kids. I’ve already spent three years with him. I’ve put in my time, and I don’t want to start over again. I want a guy that’s ready to commit right now. Guys like that aren’t at posh yacht parties. They’re volunteering at animal shelters.
At least, I think they are.
I need to hit up the local shelter scene ASAP.
“Meg, you’re already here. Come in and have a drink.” Brooke reaches for my arm, but I step back, shaking my head.
“I don’t like the look of this situation. It doesn’tfeelsafe. Even the name of the boat suggests foul play.”
My sisters shake their heads, obviously irritated with my assessment, but I can’t be stopped.
“Do we even know the owner of the yacht? Or what kind of party this is? There could be”—I lower my voice to a whisper—“drugs like Ecstasy. And I, for one, am not going to be drugged tonight. I’ve got work in the morning.”
Tessa groans. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I?” I fold my arms. “Or am I literally saving my life right now by not going into that party?”
“I can’t deal with you anymore.” Tessa scowls before running ahead, catching the group of men that just walked by, and loops her arm through the arm of the stranger at the end. Wow. The confidence she has is impressive.
“It’s all right if you want to take your time,” Brooke says, backing away from me. “Text us when you’re ready to come aboard, and I’ll meet you at the door.”
Brooke’s brown hair bounces up and down as she skips the last ten feet to Tessa’s side. I watch as my sisters walk up the ramp and vanish into the yacht.
I release a heavy breath. I better get an Uber to pick me up, or else I’ll be stuck here all night. I spot a metal bench behind me with a matching black lamppost next to it. My eyes dart to the man on the end of the bench. He’s got a baby-blue shirt on with gray golf pants. His jaw is covered with light-brown stubble that matches his hair. He’s sitting, so I can’t really get a grasp on how tall he is, but I have a perfect view of how big his biceps are, and let’s just say it’s clear he’s no stranger to the gym. He’s basically Thor—the short hair version.
All the hot men in the city have gathered together to taunt women like me. It’s the theme of the night, apparently.
I’m so over it. The last thing I need is another self-indulgent man who isn’t ready to commit.
His light-blue eyes, the same color as mine, watch me. I give him a tense smile before sitting down on the opposite end of the bench. The cold metal planks that make up the bench sting the skin on the back of my legs. I wiggle, trying to pull Tessa’s dress down so that less of my thighs are bulging through the cracks. Later, when I stand, I’m sure I’ll have the exact design of the bench imprinted on my skin—reason #53 why I prefer to wear longer skirts.
I pull my phone out of my purse. It’s actually Tessa’s purse, because there’s no way I own a small black purse that goes with a dress like this. My regular purse is more like a diaper bag—minus the diapers—but if you need sanitizer, toenail clippers, mints, gum, hairspray, Tylenol, half-graded papers, or a Band-Aid, I’m your girl.
I swipe on my phone until I find the Uber app and plug in my location. It says my ride will be at the street corner in sixteen minutes. My feet are killing me from wearing Tessa’s too-small shoes, so I decide to sit on this bench as long as I can until my ride comes.
I place my phone next to me and watch as it slips through the metal cracks, falling to the cement below. I bend over, reaching for it, but if I lean over too far, my backside is going to be on full display.
So I straighten and look at the stranger next to me.
He glances at the phone on the ground between the two of us. His eyebrows slowly lift. “Do you…want me to get that for you?”
“Would you mind?” I smile guiltily. “My dress is a little short, and I can’t reach it without flashing everyone on the pier.”
His eyes dart to my legs. The glance is quick, but long enough for me to notice, and I feel the need to drop my hands into my lap, covering my thighs. Normally I’d be irritated about his blatant stare at my legs, but…I was the one who mentioned my short dress.
He bends over and grabs my phone. “Are you a big baseball fan?” he asks as he hands it back to me.
I shake my head. “Excuse me?”
He points to the back of my phone. “You have a Tampa Bay Rays sticker on your phone case.”
I flip the device over. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. It was a gift.”
He nods, glancing over me again. I don’t feel like he’s checking me out—more like he’s assessing me.
I wave my phone out in front of me. “Well, thanks.” Then I look to the side, trying to convey that the conversation is over.
