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At least when it comes to pretty girls smiling at me, especially after the shitty days I’ve had.
“Two Coors coming right up,” I say. “Coors Light?”
“There’s nothing light about me,” she says, and I pause, my hand in the cooler, my brain firing uselessly.
What she says sounds like so much more. More than I ever thought I’d hear on a day like this, at a place like this.
Or anywhere, ever.
Goes to show, one hears what one wants to hear, and combined with her pretty face, loose blond hair and the dark blue dress that hugs some seriously hot curves, well…
Poor brain. Don’t worry, I get you. She’s too pretty, too perfect to be what you need, and when something looks too good to be true, then it’s not. Lesson learned.
So back the fuck off.
I grab two Coors and open them while waiting for my thoughts to settle and my body to calm the fuck down.
“Was the last group any good?”
I glance up and find her face inches from mine. My grip on the bottles slips, and they crash to the grass, spilling beer everywhere, including on my black jeans.
Oh for fuck’s sake. Grunting, I bend over to collect the now half-empty bottles—and she does the same, our foreheads bumping.
“Ow!” She stumbles backward, and I snatch at her wrist. I manage to grab it and steady her before she ends up on her ass in the spilled beer.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure? Why don’t you sit here?” I drag her toward the chair behind the table, the one I’m not supposed to use, because I’m supposed to be standing and chatting up people and making sure they know I’m having the time of my life.
She lets me settle her in the chair, and I’m about to grab a fresh pair of beers, when she blinks golden-brown eyes at me, and I still.
There’s something about her. Something… spicy and sweet, sharp but delicate, from the look in her eyes that measure me from head to toe, weigh me and shake me up, to the pale arch of her throat to the dark hollow between her full tits, barely contained in the thin summer dress she’s wearing.
Now that she’s seated, I also see her legs. Long. Slim. Smooth. Slender feet shoved into green flip-flops, pink toenails peeking out.
Not my kind of chick. Too girly, too colorful, too playful. Too light, despite what she said—and why did she say it? It was as if she saw right through me, looked right into my soul.
What’s left of it, anyway.
I open two more beers, careful to put them on the table before I turn back to her. “That would be… hey, girl?” She’s still staring at me and hasn’t moved at all. “Hello, Earth to girl sitting in my chair?”
She smiles.
Her silence is worrying me, though. Maybe she’s wasted. Or got a concussion. “Shall I find your friend?”
> “No, it’s fine.” She finally stirs, pushes up from the chair. My gaze dips again to her tits, her waist, her hips, and I lick my dry lips. Can’t help it. Meanwhile, she rummages in her small purse and hands me money for the beers. “Um. Thanks.”
I push it back at her. “No. My treat.”
She smiles again, and I bask in the brightness of that smile. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Did I say I have to? I want to.”
“That’s cute.”
Is it? That’s not what I’m like, not normally. Cute, me?
