friendliness in his eyes and across his dark, handsome face made him non-threatening.
“Very funny. No, bike racer.” He held up a hand, palm-out. “And, before you ask, not motorcycles. Bicycles. Do you ride often?”
“Not if I can help it. The one time I’ve been on a bike since I was twelve netted me this.” Abby raised her top enough to wave at the mess on her hip. “So, no.”
He nodded, smiling. “Fair enough. So, do you swim? Run? You’re doing something to keep that shape.”
“Ooh. Confident, aren’t we?” Abby said archly, and he shrugged. “I walk an insane amount every day in my real life, though I’ve been doing a lot of lying around during this vacation. Weeks of vegetating so far—well, with a little bit of yoga.”
“Not good. Not good at all.” He shook his head sadly. “We’ll have to get you back in the saddle or you’ll start to lose muscle tone.” He looked Abby up and down. “That would be a damned shame.”
Cheeky bastard…but Abby sort of liked it. She slid onto the stool next to him and drained her bottle of beer before answering. “Thanks. You do realize that I’m old enough to be your…” She searched for the term she wanted.
“I’m twenty-five. How old are you?” he asked boldly, turning toward Abby. She couldn’t help noticing the way his shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders, accentuating just a couple of his multiple assets.
“Thirty-seven.”
“Then ‘mother’ wouldn’t fit. I may be from West Virginia, but even my hillbilly mother wasn’t pregnant at twelve.” Abby laughed. “So, are we finished with that crap? Age isn’t an issue. Are we in agreement?”
Abby blew out a gust of air, enjoying the man’s candor and really enjoying looking at him. “Um…this might be a weird question, but…aren’t you a big guy for bike racing? I thought they were little ’uns.”
He laughed loudly, drawing friendly looks and smiles from the other patrons. “Bikes, not horses. Racers aren’t jockeys. In answer to your question, though—yeah, I am bigger than US norm, though some Europeans are close. I’m agile, though, and powerful.” He raised his bottle to his lips, smiling and looking at Abby out of the corner of his eye. “You ought to try me.”
“Down, boy,” she deadpanned, liking him more all the time. “Is there a big bike scene in Santa Cruz to bring you down from the hills, Billy?”
He shook his head at Abby’s bad joke. “Yeah, there is, but I have to work, too. I’m modeling for an artist this summer. Well, hopefully. I meet with him tomorrow.”
“Modeling?” Abby grinned. “How did you stumble into that line of work?”
He shrugged. “Gotta feed the obsession somehow. New frames for a guy my size don’t come cheap.” Abby nodded. “Besides, I’ve done worse gigs.” He drained his bottle, winking at the barmaid and wiggling his bottle to indicate that he’d like another.
Abby watched the play of the muscles in his shoulders and back as he leaned forward to take the drink, and her interest was piqued. “Liiike…?”
“Liiike…department store Santa. That sucked.”
Imagining him in a full beard and padded suit, Abby started laughing. After a minute he joined in, leaning forward to rest a hand on her knee. “Listen, I have an early morning, and I’m an upfront guy. Would you be interested in a drink at my place? The noise in here is getting to me. I live just around the corner, and I swear to God, I’m trustworthy.” He placed his other hand over his heart. “And besides, my best friend-slash-manager will be there. Her name’s Chelsie, and she can kick my ass. You wanna?”
Abby’s mind flew back and forth between interest and caution. He seemed friendly enough, but he was miles from her usual type. Suck it up, Abby. That’s what this summer is all about—change . “Sure. Why not?” Slipping off the stool, Abby linked her arm through his and slid her other hand over his bicep. “Hey, I
“Very funny. No, bike racer.” He held up a hand, palm-out. “And, before you ask, not motorcycles. Bicycles. Do you ride often?”
“Not if I can help it. The one time I’ve been on a bike since I was twelve netted me this.” Abby raised her top enough to wave at the mess on her hip. “So, no.”
He nodded, smiling. “Fair enough. So, do you swim? Run? You’re doing something to keep that shape.”
“Ooh. Confident, aren’t we?” Abby said archly, and he shrugged. “I walk an insane amount every day in my real life, though I’ve been doing a lot of lying around during this vacation. Weeks of vegetating so far—well, with a little bit of yoga.”
“Not good. Not good at all.” He shook his head sadly. “We’ll have to get you back in the saddle or you’ll start to lose muscle tone.” He looked Abby up and down. “That would be a damned shame.”
Cheeky bastard…but Abby sort of liked it. She slid onto the stool next to him and drained her bottle of beer before answering. “Thanks. You do realize that I’m old enough to be your…” She searched for the term she wanted.
“I’m twenty-five. How old are you?” he asked boldly, turning toward Abby. She couldn’t help noticing the way his shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders, accentuating just a couple of his multiple assets.
“Thirty-seven.”
“Then ‘mother’ wouldn’t fit. I may be from West Virginia, but even my hillbilly mother wasn’t pregnant at twelve.” Abby laughed. “So, are we finished with that crap? Age isn’t an issue. Are we in agreement?”
Abby blew out a gust of air, enjoying the man’s candor and really enjoying looking at him. “Um…this might be a weird question, but…aren’t you a big guy for bike racing? I thought they were little ’uns.”
He laughed loudly, drawing friendly looks and smiles from the other patrons. “Bikes, not horses. Racers aren’t jockeys. In answer to your question, though—yeah, I am bigger than US norm, though some Europeans are close. I’m agile, though, and powerful.” He raised his bottle to his lips, smiling and looking at Abby out of the corner of his eye. “You ought to try me.”
“Down, boy,” she deadpanned, liking him more all the time. “Is there a big bike scene in Santa Cruz to bring you down from the hills, Billy?”
He shook his head at Abby’s bad joke. “Yeah, there is, but I have to work, too. I’m modeling for an artist this summer. Well, hopefully. I meet with him tomorrow.”
“Modeling?” Abby grinned. “How did you stumble into that line of work?”
He shrugged. “Gotta feed the obsession somehow. New frames for a guy my size don’t come cheap.” Abby nodded. “Besides, I’ve done worse gigs.” He drained his bottle, winking at the barmaid and wiggling his bottle to indicate that he’d like another.
Abby watched the play of the muscles in his shoulders and back as he leaned forward to take the drink, and her interest was piqued. “Liiike…?”
“Liiike…department store Santa. That sucked.”
Imagining him in a full beard and padded suit, Abby started laughing. After a minute he joined in, leaning forward to rest a hand on her knee. “Listen, I have an early morning, and I’m an upfront guy. Would you be interested in a drink at my place? The noise in here is getting to me. I live just around the corner, and I swear to God, I’m trustworthy.” He placed his other hand over his heart. “And besides, my best friend-slash-manager will be there. Her name’s Chelsie, and she can kick my ass. You wanna?”
Abby’s mind flew back and forth between interest and caution. He seemed friendly enough, but he was miles from her usual type. Suck it up, Abby. That’s what this summer is all about—change . “Sure. Why not?” Slipping off the stool, Abby linked her arm through his and slid her other hand over his bicep. “Hey, I
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