Page 2 of Book Boyfriend
I touch his arm and stop him mid reach. “It’s fine. I’m fine. You’re off the hook. You can go back to your jog or whatever. Maybe find that person who called your name.”
“Fisher,” he says.
“Me? No. Do I look like I fish?”
He smirks. “That’s my name. Well, my last name. Patrick Fisher. But everyone calls me Fisher.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool. Thanks for sharing.”
I shake out my towel and stuff it into my bag along with my bottle of sunscreen and my laptop. Just as I lift the bag from the ground, he grabs it from me and tosses it on his shoulder.
“Hey, what’s your deal?” I place my hands on my hips.
“Let me carry your things. It’s the least I can do for all the trouble I caused.”
“I’m right here,” I say, motioning to the hotel just beyond the swimming pool. “I’m going back to my room. It’s not necessary.”
He sighs. “I feel terrible for knocking you over. You were a little wobbly and I’d feel better if I could just walk you to the hotel.”
“You’re not the first guy who’s knocked my off my feet. I’m fine. Really.” I reach out for my bag and he steps back.
Pausing to stare at him for a moment, I shake my head and bend down to grab my folded chair. He rushes in and takes it before my hand is halfway there.
“What am I supposed to carry?” I ask as I slip on my flip-flops.
“Someone as beautiful as you should never have to lift a thing.”
My eyebrows rise in amusement and I snort. “There are no fish in this sea, Fisher. You should take your rod and move on to bigger oceans.”
“My rod?” He laughs. “Wow, I guess that sounded like a pick-up line, didn’t it?” He cringes humorously.
I shrug. “I call ’em like I see ’em.”
“I like that. And it may have sounded like a line, but I meant it. You really are gorgeous.” He squints and licks his lips cautiously. “I’m sure men tell you that all the time.”
Wrinkling my nose, I decide to let him believe that’s true. I don’t think now is the time to pour out my troubled dating life to a complete stranger. He doesn’t seem like a player. He’s too nervously awkward. I think. What do I know? I haven’t been on a date in like . . . crap. Five years? My reality reminds me I need to move. The sooner I get off the beach, the sooner I can get my ass back to my room to change my flight home. Home. The word sounds like heaven right now. I imagine my soft comforter and my own perfect bed. I want to go home and sleep for a week.
He follows closely behind as I silently walk past the pool to the hotel entrance. Turning to face him, I hold out my hand for him to give me my bag. He places his hand inside mine instead, shaking it. Damn, he has big hands.
“I didn’t get your name.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell you,” I reply.
I attempt to take my hand back, but he won’t let go. He raises an eyebrow at me and smiles a crooked smile that almost makes me lose my will to breathe. Holy fucktits. He’s not just hot, he’s beautiful. Like a tanned god. I stammer now because I realize I need to get away from him before my wet panties drip down my leg. “Greer. Greer Hanson.” Shit. I just gave him my real name. I usually give my author name to strangers.
“I wish we had met under better circumstances, Greer, and again, I apologize for running you down.”
He releases my hand and slides my bag down his arm. I nod and stare at the ground awkwardly, wondering when I can run away without looking like I’m running.
“I’d be happy to carry this back to your room for you, if you’d like.”
I shoot him my best Britney Spears crazy face and he chuckles.
“I did it again, didn’t I?” The irony of his words and my thoughts has me singing, “Oops, I Did It Again” in my head.
“That’s not what I meant. I just . . . What I mean is . . .”
I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot as he attempts to clarify. I slip the straps of my bag over my shoulder. This is kind of weird. Even for me.
