Caribbean Crossroads by Connie E Sokol Page B

real major?” he said. “It’s the quickest degree you can get.”
    “It wasn’t my first choice, but some of us have to put ourselves through school.”
    “I know how that goes,” he said.
    Surprised, Megan took that in. Beautiful surfer boy had to work to go to school? Softened momentarily by what it implied, she added, “I’d actually thought to go into law. But I don’t like the industry. Then I considered counseling, but I work at a temp agency, which is a lot like counseling. You get tired of hearing people whine. You just want to tell them to suck it up and go to work.”
    “You’re right. Counseling is not for you.” He shook the bag for her. “And now, what are your plans?”
    “I don’t know,” she said quietly.
    Warning! Warning! Too close!
    “Hypocrite. Here you seem all put together and you’re not.”
    “So sue me.” She looked at him. Putting a popcorn piece to her mouth, she stopped. Crackling. His blue eyes conducted an actual energy she could feel, sparking like a bright blue fire.  
    From her peripheral view, Megan saw Brittany lean forward—ostensibly to get something from her purse—and glance their way. Reflexively, Megan stuffed the entire handful of popcorn in her mouth then shoved both hands in her lap. She did not want anyone getting the wrong idea.
    Someone asked Bryant a question from the row in front and he leaned forward. She tried not to notice the details; the ripple of his Polo shirt when he moved; the broadness of his shoulders, the profile of his forehead down to his jaw.
    The room went dark and the opening trailer began. “Man, these bags are small. More popcorn, anyone?” said Bryant as he stood up. 
    Turning, his foot caught in Megan’s purse loop and he almost went down, saving himself by putting both hands on either side of Megan’s seat, but with the rest of his popcorn landing squarely in her lap.
    “Oh, sorry about that—” but he was trying not to laugh as he said it, his face only inches from hers in the movie light. Trying to move, he stepped on her open toes.
    “Ouch!” said Megan, trying to move and only getting closer to his face.
    The row behind him called out—“Yo, get down,” and, “Get a room, this is the good part.”
    “It’s the credits, give me a break,” said Bryant. In the dark he whispered, “Sorry, Megan.”
    Hearing him speak her name—unreasonably, a string of goose bumps flashed up her spine. She shook her head to clear her mind, which he took differently and apologized again, finally extricating himself from the situation.
    Foregoing the extra popcorn, he sat down and let it be, although she heard him chuckle a few minutes later, which seemed to have nothing to do with the movie.
    Round One Bryant. Megan set her lips in a tight line. This was not how things were to go. She was here to work, to focus, to heal. Not to think about blond men with laughing, sparking blue eyes. That was it. Rein it in. Refocus.
    Round Two would be hers.

***
    In the early morning sunlight, Megan glanced from side to side, double checked she was alone, and opened the metal pool house door. A smile stole across her face. She had outwitted him.
    Since the Cinema Fiasco yesterday, she had purposely made herself scarce. Or tried to, except that Bryant seemed to be everywhere.
    After rehearsal she had hurried off to nowhere in particular, ending up at a gift shop and admiring a beautiful swimsuit. Funny that she’d even noticed it, she hadn’t bought something new in a while. The colors had drawn her—a mix of soft peach, hot pink, and fresh white—and the cut was modest but pretty, like something she used to wear. A long time ago.
    As Megan had held it, debating the ridiculous price but duty-free benefit, Bryant materialized on the other side of the rack. For some reason she had turned a bright pink and quickly headed to the cash register without looking back. Was it just a coincidence he was there? But if it wasn’t, why would he be seeking