chest, occasionally breaking free to streak downward and drip onto me. My body is already past inflamed, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if the drops began to sizzle.
Is this a stupid conversation? Yes, it is. We should stop tiptoeing around what we really want to say and get down to business. But I don’t suggest that; he’ll need some priming to abandon control. Instead, I answer his question.
“It is a good book. I’ve read it before. Several times actually. It’s my favorite.”
He leans in to look at the cover before he bends to put on his shoes. “Science Fiction. Looks heavy. I wouldn’t have figured you for the sci-fi type.”
I shrug and go for broke. “Maybe if we run into each other again we can get to know each other better.”
“Maybe. Chances look good, seeing as how we’re neighbors now.” His eyes drift to my henna.
“I imagine I’ll be spending most weekends here if I’m not at the bar,” I hint.
“I always run by here on the weekends.”
“This is a good time. Not too crowded.” I watch him over the rim of my glasses.
“Yes, it is.” He lifts his delectable mouth and produces a crooked smile. “Well, enjoy then. Thanks for keepin’ an eye on my stuff.”
“No sweat.” I lie down and adjust my top before wiggling back into my spot.
His phone buzzes and a soft expletive escapes when he looks at the screen.
“Work,” he says. “I gotta run. So, again?” He gestures to the beach.
“Yes, please,” I say and meet his gaze.
With a curt nod of his head, he heads back to the boardwalk.
Lord, that man.
I fall back on my towel, a quivering mess.
Chapter 6
The address for the job I found in the classifieds takes me to a portion of the business district that’s not based on the International Speedway but instead aviation. The building is really a hangar housed in a row of hangars within a stone’s throw from the Aeronautical University and the international airport.
A large neon number hanging over the door lets me know I have the right building. Outside, a crew of guys are building up a post from which I can only assume a business sign will hang. There’s nothing on the door to let me know the company name or specific business. The hangar is constructed from the typical gray aluminum and behind it sits two planes, a Cessna 152 and Cessna 172. The hanger door is ajar and inside is a Beech Sierra and Piper Seneca. If it didn’t look legit, with the crew outside and the planes’ noses sticking out the hangar door, I’d have turned around and left.
The planes make me think of McRae, specifically his hot as hell body. Scanning the parking lot, I don’t see the truck that brought me to Daytona.
I come face to face with a freshly scrubbed-face kid with bleached out hair. He’s tall enough to be confused for a basketball player but is so thin it’s a wonder he can defy gravity and remain upright.
“How’s it?” he says, wiping his hands onto a towel. It’s as if he’s used to seeing me every day and this is our customary greeting, no response needed.
“Hey. I saw an ad in the paper for an administrative assistant. Is this the place?” I smile at him and relax my shoulders. This kid doesn’t scan me up and down or stare only at my chest. He looks at me with no never mind whatsoever.
“Yeah, this is the place. You’re looking for Mark, the owner.”
“Is he here?”
“He’s through the door and down the hallway. That’s where all the offices are.” He nods toward a door on the far wall that’s labeled Employees Only.
“Great, thanks. I’m Josie by the way.” I stick out my hand and wait. When he shows me his still greasy hand, I shrug and take it.
“I’m Zach, Zach Smith, nice to meet you. I sure hope you stick around. You seem all right and we need that around here.” He does an eye roll and offers me the rag to wipe my hand.
“Fingers crossed.” I hand the rag back. “Nice to meet you,” I say with a backward step. We smile
Is this a stupid conversation? Yes, it is. We should stop tiptoeing around what we really want to say and get down to business. But I don’t suggest that; he’ll need some priming to abandon control. Instead, I answer his question.
“It is a good book. I’ve read it before. Several times actually. It’s my favorite.”
He leans in to look at the cover before he bends to put on his shoes. “Science Fiction. Looks heavy. I wouldn’t have figured you for the sci-fi type.”
I shrug and go for broke. “Maybe if we run into each other again we can get to know each other better.”
“Maybe. Chances look good, seeing as how we’re neighbors now.” His eyes drift to my henna.
“I imagine I’ll be spending most weekends here if I’m not at the bar,” I hint.
“I always run by here on the weekends.”
“This is a good time. Not too crowded.” I watch him over the rim of my glasses.
“Yes, it is.” He lifts his delectable mouth and produces a crooked smile. “Well, enjoy then. Thanks for keepin’ an eye on my stuff.”
“No sweat.” I lie down and adjust my top before wiggling back into my spot.
His phone buzzes and a soft expletive escapes when he looks at the screen.
“Work,” he says. “I gotta run. So, again?” He gestures to the beach.
“Yes, please,” I say and meet his gaze.
With a curt nod of his head, he heads back to the boardwalk.
Lord, that man.
I fall back on my towel, a quivering mess.
Chapter 6
The address for the job I found in the classifieds takes me to a portion of the business district that’s not based on the International Speedway but instead aviation. The building is really a hangar housed in a row of hangars within a stone’s throw from the Aeronautical University and the international airport.
A large neon number hanging over the door lets me know I have the right building. Outside, a crew of guys are building up a post from which I can only assume a business sign will hang. There’s nothing on the door to let me know the company name or specific business. The hangar is constructed from the typical gray aluminum and behind it sits two planes, a Cessna 152 and Cessna 172. The hanger door is ajar and inside is a Beech Sierra and Piper Seneca. If it didn’t look legit, with the crew outside and the planes’ noses sticking out the hangar door, I’d have turned around and left.
The planes make me think of McRae, specifically his hot as hell body. Scanning the parking lot, I don’t see the truck that brought me to Daytona.
I come face to face with a freshly scrubbed-face kid with bleached out hair. He’s tall enough to be confused for a basketball player but is so thin it’s a wonder he can defy gravity and remain upright.
“How’s it?” he says, wiping his hands onto a towel. It’s as if he’s used to seeing me every day and this is our customary greeting, no response needed.
“Hey. I saw an ad in the paper for an administrative assistant. Is this the place?” I smile at him and relax my shoulders. This kid doesn’t scan me up and down or stare only at my chest. He looks at me with no never mind whatsoever.
“Yeah, this is the place. You’re looking for Mark, the owner.”
“Is he here?”
“He’s through the door and down the hallway. That’s where all the offices are.” He nods toward a door on the far wall that’s labeled Employees Only.
“Great, thanks. I’m Josie by the way.” I stick out my hand and wait. When he shows me his still greasy hand, I shrug and take it.
“I’m Zach, Zach Smith, nice to meet you. I sure hope you stick around. You seem all right and we need that around here.” He does an eye roll and offers me the rag to wipe my hand.
“Fingers crossed.” I hand the rag back. “Nice to meet you,” I say with a backward step. We smile
Similar Books
