Falling for Mr. Wrong(35)
At least his priorities were straight. He laughed.
Meanwhile the amount of the check she gave him was pretty insignificant. It wasn’t going to cover the cost of replacement wood, let alone the time it would take him to craft another board, and certainly not the dent in the back end of his car. Good thing he could get his neighbor Ben to bang out the dent, maybe even do a little quickie paint touch-up. The car was old and beat-up anyhow, so that wasn’t his primary concern. It was simply how the hell was he going to surf until he finished his next board? He’d gotten spoiled with his baby. Now he was going to have to go back to one of his old store-bought surfboards, which was a bummer. Ah well, he was nothing if not flexible. He was going to just have to deal with it.
He pulled the woman’s check out of his pocket and read it, realizing he hadn’t even learned her damned name. He squinted at the small print till he saw it: Georgia Childress. Huh. She sort of looked like a Georgia. Tall and strong, built like she knew how to take care of her body. He liked a woman like that. He stared at her phone number, wondering if maybe he should write that down, just in case. It was weird, her giving him a check. Who even writes checks in this day and age? She could’ve just Venmo’d him the money.
He pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture of the check, phone number and all. That way if anything came up he’d know how to get hold of her. Although right now the only thing that seemed like it was coming up was becoming a bit too obvious pressing up against the crotch of his wetsuit. Seriously, just thinking about her tits had done this to him? What guy gets his board killed, his car dented, and can only think about how he might be able to get into the pants of the perpetrator? He laughed. Scratch that—plenty of men.
He dragged his hand over the day-old (ish) beard on his chin and shook his head. He knew he had to put those thoughts out of his mind immediately. He didn’t come here to get involved with a woman, ditzy or not. He came here to get away from responsibility in all forms, and, well, crap, usually hopping on his surfboard served to clear his mind from such emotional pollutants. Looked like today he was just going to have to pretend this never happened, because that seemed the easiest way to purge the hot blond surfboard killer from his besotted mind.
He took one more look at his broken board.
Good luck with that, he thought, shaking his head. Why did he have the nagging feeling she was going to be harder to cleanse from his thoughts than the others were?