The Do-Over(2)

“I don’t live on the east coast.” There was a challenge in his tone.

“No?” I finally opened my eyes and turned my head to look at him.

“No. I live in L.A.,” he corrected my assumption.

Smiling, “But you’re not from L.A.,” I paused. “Queens?” Voicing my guess.

That gasp-worthy smile slowly spread across his face. “Very good.”

“Okay, keep talking. Let me see if I can figure out where in Queens.” I could feel my own smile matching his.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Wes.”

“Hi Wes, I’m Tara. How long have you lived in California?”

“Three years.” He was succinct.

“Oh, you are going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”

He nodded, but didn’t utter a word.

“Favorite beach.”

“Venice.” The one and two-word answers were not giving me a lot to go off of.

“Is that where you live?”

He nodded and took a sip of his drink.

“Why did you move out there?”

“Business.”

Sitting up in my chair, I grabbed my drink. “You’d be a great Mad Libs partner.”

Looking at me over the lip of his glass, I could see the tug at the corners of his mouth and I was already aching to see that smile again.

“What kind of business are you in?”

“Apparel.” Another one-word answer.

“Ah, a Garmento gone west coast rogue.” I nodded and took another sip of my drink.

Caught off-guard by my usage of the popular nickname for execs and workers in New York’s fashion and garment industry, Wes started to laugh at my comment, as his own sip of tropical happy juice was already headed down his throat. Abruptly, he sat up straight, coughing. Without thinking, I reached across giving him a few hearty slaps on the back.

“You really are very amusing,” he coughed out the words.

“I absolutely can be, but my intent was not to kill you with laughter. Cutting the trip short would probably piss off your girlfriend.”

“My girlfriend?” Wes looked startled. And then it dawned on him. “That’s not my girlfriend that I’m here with. That’s my sister.”

“Your sister?”

“Yeah,” he paused, rolling his eyes. “She booked this trip with her boyfriend, had laid out all the money and the jerk-off ditched her like two weeks ago for one of her best friends.”

“Shitty boyfriend and an even shittier friend.”

“Yeah, this chick is a real piece of work and he’s a total loser. So, she called me and asked if I wanted to go. And even though it was last minute, this was a hard one to say no to.”

“Totally. But I feel for your sister. Poor thing. She got screwed twice.”

Wes laughed, “Now she has a legit reason to be a moody bitch versus just being the brat she usually is.”

“Seriously, the poor girl. Cut her some slack, big bro.”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, as if giving me a dirty look, but I knew a smile and smartass comment were on the horizon.

“Sharing a tiny cabin with a depressed chick is not my optimal idea of vacation fun,” he confided and I thought, Oh, I know that story too well. “You’re going to be seeing a lot of me on deck.”

I wanted to tell him that I hoped so, but being forward with a guy I was even slightly attracted to, was way beyond my comfort zone. Had there been no attraction on my part, well, then I could have said anything. But with this guy, I could feel the spark.

“So, is that what you are doing out here tonight? Avoiding being confined in close quarters with your bummed-out sister.”

Wes squinted at me. “No, silly. I’m out here so I can talk to you.”

I know I blushed, even though I tried to act cool and was just glad the stiff night breeze was most likely calming the heat in my face. Momentarily, I looked away from his stare, my heart pounding. Was I ever going to not freeze up when a guy I was attracted to flirted with me?

“Me?” I forced a laugh, then a joke. “Good answer.”

Holding out his drink to clink with mine, our glasses met halfway.

And with a smile, out of my mouth I blurted, “Forest Hills.” Then, “How close am I?”

His laugh was immediate, his eyes squinting into a warm smile. “Close enough to get invited to my mother’s house for dinner.”

“Damn, I’m good.” Smiling, I took a swig of my drink. Okay, so Wes was a Forest Hills boy.

“Let me get you another.” He popped up from his seat upon hearing my oh-so-not-ladylike slurp at the bottom of my cup.

Watching him walk away, it was impossible not to admire his ass. While he was only of medium-tall height, he had that slim runner’s build usually seen in much taller men, the kind of body that screamed adrenaline junkie. I had been trying to decide as we talked whether or not he was cute, and as I watched him getting our drinks at the bar, I realized there was no doubt the man was hot, in an unconventional kind of way. Definitely not your standard good looking or a pretty boy by any means, but the charisma and personality made him even more attractive than the hot-and-I-know-it types. And those lips. Oh, those lips. Full, with a slight sneer that killed me each time he burst into his arresting smile. I was mesmerized by them and I could feel an obsession coming on, needing to know what they tasted like, felt like against mine.