I stretched and let the cool breeze coming off the ocean chase away the cobwebs that had set in while I slept. I always tried to avoid drinking while I was filming. It made me look bloated and pasty on camera, and I hated nothing more than knowing I didn’t look my best. So, my tolerance was way down, and I probably had a little more than I should’ve.
It was just Floundy and me, the two of us hanging out in the beach house, talking shit about our old school friends and having fun. I wasn’t worried. In my business, lots of people my age had a habit of getting caught falling ass-backward out of clubs after a few too many. The only thing I had to worry about was getting up early enough to let Betsy out when she gave me the signal. And here I was, doing just that and nailing this whole drinking business.
The man veered closer to the house now, so I got a good look at him. It wasn’t like he could see me checking him out as I hunkered down in my hoodie. And even if he did, I was enjoying my anonymity. Back home, if I so much as looked at a guy twice it would become a “big thing” I’d spend the next few months trying to explain away. But here at Sand Dollar Beach no one seemed to care who I was. At the very least, I hadn’t had to bother ducking from paparazzi cameras, a pleasant change of pace from my life back in Los Angeles.
The man was a stone-cold fox. He looked about my age, maybe a little older, with a strong jaw sporting a smattering of stubble like he hadn’t had time to shave this morning. Maybe he was staying at one of the beach houses, too. Hell, with his looks, he could stay at mine.
He glanced over in my direction, and my heart swooped. But I looked away. I didn’t want him seeing me like this. He’d probably think I was some crazy lady camping out at someone else’s beach house and would call the cops. I caught sight of myself in the reflective glass door opposite me, and, of course, my hair was a fucking crazy mess. I’d also left my eye makeup on the night before, and it had smeared down my face. Yeah. I looked amazing. He’d have to restrain himself as best he could in the face of such outstanding beauty.
I snapped my fingers, my signal to call Betsy back to my side, but to my horror, I saw she had latched on to another target.
“Shit,” I muttered to myself and barreled across the sand in the hopes of intercepting her. But of course, by the time I got there, she had locked her sights onto the man and was powering so fast toward him, I couldn’t have caught up even if I wasn’t hungover. Was this really how I was going to run into the hottest dude I’d seen in months? Dressed like this, wearing clothes I’d slept in, hair a mess and with make-up gunk under my eyes?
Apparently, yes.
I hung back a few seconds, wondering if I could somehow excuse myself or call Betsy back from afar, but the man glanced up and offered me a dazzling smile. I couldn’t just walk away, could I? Grimly, I made my way across the sand as he pulled up to a stop and squatted down to pet Betsy. She tilted her head back and let him scratch between her ears, the little shit. Did she have any idea how bad I looked and how good he did?
I approached slowly, hurriedly patting down my hair and trying to wipe away the worst of the streaks of make-up. I arrived next to the two of them and gave him an awkward smile as I reached down to scoop up Betsy. I held her against my chest, the morning sun warming my face, or was it embarrassment?
“Sorry to disturb your run,” I muttered, but he waved his hand.
“Not at all,” he said, flashing a world-class grin. “I love dogs. And she’s particularly sweet.”
“Yeah, she is.” I smiled to myself, thinking, dude, she’s not the only sweet spot on the beach.
He was even better-looking close up, with pale blue—almost gray—eyes that seemed to pierce straight through me every time they locked on to mine. Even with a sheen of sweat on his face, he was still one of the most gorgeous guys I’d ever seen.
He reached over to scratch Betsy behind the ears as I stared at him, slightly dumbfounded. I’d worked with any number of hot guys over the years, the kind of guys who plastered the bedroom walls of teenage girls the world over, and none of them had my pulse racing like this guy did. The smile on his face, the amused expression as he seemed to observe me, the glint in his eyes that spoke to something a little deeper and more playful than I was used to. He had everything. And here I was, clutching my stupid dog and dressed as though I was cosplaying as a homeless woman with a particularly grim taste in fashion.
“I should let you get back to your run,” I mumbled, lowering my eyes from his as though I could somehow convince the ground to swallow me up if I tried hard enough.
“Good running into you,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “Pun intended.”
I managed a nervous laugh, then watched as he carried on his way down the beach, his shorts hugging his perfect ass as he picked up speed. I clutched Betsy close to my chest as he ran off into the fading morning mist and turned to make my way back up to the house. I found the panicked footprints I’d left as I’d rushed across the sand to rescue the dream guy from Betsy, then retraced them back up the beach, probably blushing bright red as I prayed he’d somehow wiped that picture of me from his memory.
Jesus, what are the chances? The one time I stepped outside the house, not bothering with my appearance, someone like him comes along to remind me why I should never go outside without checking with my stylist.
I reached the deck jutting out from the house and allowed myself one more glance in the direction of the man as he made his way down the beach. To my shock, I found him looking over his shoulder at me. I wondered if he was peering at something else, if he had spotted something close to me I hadn’t come across yet, but no, there was no doubt. He was looking directly at me.
I flushed again, and went inside, pulling the door shut behind me and leaning up against it, as though if I tried hard enough, I could block out the humiliating event and redo my morning. I placed Betsy down carefully on the floor, and she looked up at me with an apologetic expression.
“It’s not good enough,” I scolded her, even though I knew I was being silly. “You could have waited till I at least got dressed.”
“Are you talking to the dog again?” Floundy’s voice came from the bathroom, making me jump. He emerged, toweling his hair dry. He looked as good as he ever did, the hangover apparently not doing much to stop his fun. He cocked an eyebrow when he saw me, looking me up and down.
“Damn, you look rough, girl,” he teased.
“Oh, don’t remind me,” I groaned.
“What happened?”
“I was taking Betsy out, and she ran over to this guy who was taking a run past the house.” I shook my head. “A hot guy. A really hot guy. And there I was, looking like this.”
“Yeah, I can see why that isn’t exactly the prime outfit.” He looked me up and down and frowned. “Hold on, is that one of my old sweatshirts?”
“How can you be thinking of that at a time like this?” I exclaimed, fake-swooning onto the couch and placing the back of my hand to my forehead. “Remind me never to go out like this again. I can’t risk another encounter like that one.”
“I’ll do my best,” he agreed and stretched. “You want to go out and get a coffee?”
I nodded. “Just let me get a shower and put some real clothes on.”