The closer I get, the faster my heart starts to beat. And it has nothing to do with the exercise because I’ve barely even begun running.
It’s because of her.
What is it about this girl that has me in all kinds of knots? How can I feel so nervous over a girl I’ve never even spoken to?
She hasn’t noticed me yet. I keep my eyes on her throughout my approach.
She has the tip of the pencil pressed to her lower lip as she stares down at her sketchpad, a frown marring her forehead.
Not that far from her now, I slow my pace, coming to a stop a few feet away from her, under the pretense that I need to stop to catch my breath.
Facing the ocean, I take a drink of water from my bottle.
I slide a glance in her direction.
She still isn’t looking at me.
And just as I think it, she looks straight at me, her eyes meeting mine. I freeze.
Holy fuck, she’s stunning.
Way prettier than I first thought. My initial take on her did not do her justice because, up close, she’s beautiful. And I know beauty. I’ve been surrounded by it my whole life.
But her face…nothing compares.
She has the most amazing eyes. Captivating. They’re the color of whiskey, huge and shaped like almonds, and they are set in the most perfect face I have ever seen. Heart-shaped with a cute button nose and full lips.
In this moment, her face has literally become the center of my universe. I can’t stop staring at her.
And that’s probably why she says to me, “Um…are you okay?”
I blink myself free, realizing what a fucking idiot I must look like.
Way to make a first impression, dickface.
“Are you an artist?” I point a finger up at her sketchpad.
Then, I have to stop my own hand from punching me in the face at my lameness. That’s my opener? Wow, I just keep getting better and better.
Thy name is Adam, and I am a fucking loser.
A smile tips up her lips, and she pushes her pencil into the top of her ponytail. “Do you think you have to actually sell a drawing to be able to call yourself an artist?”
“I’m not sure.” I shrug, my eyes going straight back to her face. It’s kind of hard not to stare. She’s that beautiful.
“Well, if you do, then no, I’m not an artist.”
“Do you want to be one?”
She ponders this for a moment, her teeth biting down on that plump lower lip of hers, and I imagine my own teeth doing the exact same thing.
Her eyes come back to mine with an unexpected and surprising intensity in them. “Yes.”
For a second there, I feel like she’s saying yes to something else. Maybe she’s agreeing to the movie reel of dirty thoughts going through my mind right now—me and her, naked and sweaty and tangled up in my bedsheets.
No, that’s just my wishful thinking.
The thought of sex with her has my confidence finally making his late appearance.
I don’t know why, but thinking about sex while talking to a girl always lifts my game. I’m weird like that.
I tip my head to the side, folding my arms over my chest. “Maybe I could buy one of your drawings, and then you could officially call yourself an artist.”
She arches a perfectly formed brow. “You’d buy a drawing from me when you haven’t even seen any of my work?”
“I would.”
“And why would you do that?”
I give a lazy shrug. “Because I can.”
That seems to get her attention. She closes her sketchpad, places it on the rock beside her, and moves forward, letting her legs dangle over the side. She curls her fingers around the edge of the rock and stares down at me. “I might be really crappy at drawing, and then you would have wasted your money.”
Technically, I wouldn’t be wasting my money. It’d be my parents’, but I don’t want to tell her that I’m a rich kid. It might put her off. Evie clearly works for her money. I’m getting that from the logo on her shirt, which I can now see that it says Grady’s Surf Shack. I don’t want her to think that I’m a self-entitled brat.
“I highly doubt that you’re crappy.”
“And how would you know that? Aside from assuming, of course.” She gives me a teasing smile.
“Because you seem far too smart to spend your time on something that you know you’re not any good at.”
“Oh, so now you know I’m smart as well as good at drawing?” She laughs, the sound so sweet.
It makes my cock stand to attention.
“Well, for all you know, as well as being a crappy artist, I could also be as dumb as bricks.”
That makes me laugh. “Well, are you?” I ask, my hands coming to rest on my hips.
“What? Dumb as bricks?”
I nod, smiling.
“Quite possibly.” She gives me a lasting grin that I feel all the way deep down in my gut. Then, she grabs her sketchpad and shoves it in her bag. “Shit,” she mutters, looking around, running her hand over the surface of the rock.
“Something wrong?”
“I’ve lost my pencil. It’s just…it wasn’t cheap—well, for a pencil, and—”
“It’s in your hair.”
“Oh.” She touches a hand to the top of her ponytail, her cheeks turning pink. “Thanks.”
She pulls the pencil from her hair and drops it into her bag. Hooking the bag onto her shoulder, she starts to climb down the rock.
She’s leaving?
Her feet hit the sand. “Well, it was nice talking to you,” she says, turning to me.
She starts to move past me, and I’m just standing here, like a limp fucking noodle. I watch her go, desperately trying to think of anything to keep her here for just a few minutes longer.
Aside from blurting out that I want to take her out, I’m at a fucking loss.
Then, out of nowhere, she stops abruptly and turns back to me. “Did you change your mind?”
“Change my mind? About what?” My mouth is so dry it’s like I’m talking through cotton wool. I’ve seriously never had this kind of reaction to a girl before. “Do you mean about buying a drawing from you? Because—”
“No. I meant, did you change your mind about asking me out?”
My mouth literally drops open. “I-I—” That’s honestly all I’ve got. I can’t seem to get my brain to compute to my mouth, not that it would have much to send.
“I mean, it doesn’t matter to me if you have. I was just wondering.” Her head tilts to the side, and then a light blush starts to creep over her face as her eyes spark with something that looks an awful lot like realization. “Oh God. Have I gotten the wrong guy?” She presses her palms to her cheeks.
“The wrong guy?” I feel like I’ve just had a brick dropped on my head.
Was she supposed to be meeting some other guy here, like a blind date or something? I sincerely fucking hope not.
“You don’t live at that house there?” She points in the direction of my house. “Standing out on the balcony every day for the last week, watching me sketch?”
Then, it hits me.
Max.
Motherfucker.
Ask me if I’ve ever been embarrassed.
Never. Not once in my whole life.
Not even when the maid at my parents’ house walked in and caught me jacking off to Hentai porn in my bedroom when I was sixteen. Hey, don’t judge. I’d pretty much worn out all other kinds of porn by that point, so it was either cartoon porn or old-lady porn. So, Hentai it was. And the fact that I ended up fucking the maid the next day has nothing to do with it.
But the fact is, nothing has ever embarrassed me—until now.
Max told her that I’d been watching her—like a stalker.
I’m going to kill him.
I’m actually going to kill him and dump his body in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and I won’t feel an ounce of remorse.
“Max,” I grunt out, practically choking on the heat burning up my throat. “The guy you met yesterday, the one who helped you when you dropped your bag, did he tell you all of that, about me…watching—” I can’t even finish that sentence.