suddenly thought of the conversation they’d once had about college financial aid, how she’d been griping about repaying her loans, and he’d said that he’d “gotten some help” for which he was grateful. She later learned he’d been a National Merit Scholar with a full ride from his school of choice. So when he said he and his sister had won “some competitions,” she could only imagine what he meant by that. State championships? The Olympics? Did they have those for ballroom dancing?
“Humble-bragger.”
He laughed. “Hey, I’m heading to the bar. You want anything to drink?”
“No thanks, I’m good.” If she got any better she’d be a danger to herself and others on the dance floor. Her lips were tingling as it was, her judgment quite possibly impaired.
Which might have explained her reaction when she noticed the guy checking her out from across that crowded dance floor. Beer goggles. The problem with beer goggles was you never realized you were wearing them at the time. Only once it was too late. In fact, that kind of defined how beer goggles worked.
Surfer-blond hair, messy in a deliberate way. A tan, obviously, because practically everybody here had one. And when he grinned at Julie from around his drink straw, he had whiter-than-white teeth, contrasting beautifully with the warm tone of his skin. He was firelit, but still seemed to give off an angelic glow rather than a hellish gleam. All in all, he was her every vacation fantasy come to life, wrapped in a pleasantly fitted T-shirt and sporting some ridiculously fit calves underneath his long board shorts.
Ding ding ding!
Alan was lost in the crowd by the bar, and she was all alone out on the floor. Julie felt stupid, bobbing along to the music with no partner, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. The surfer dude didn’t seem to have a problem with that.
He sauntered closer, nodding. “Hey.”
“Hey there.”
“I’m Todd.”
“Julie.”
“Nice to meet you, Julie.” He extended a hand and she shook it, ignoring the mild clamminess transferred from the cold drink he was holding. There was a sign posted, forbidding glass on the beach, but apparently Todd hadn’t seen it or hadn’t cared enough to relinquish whatever he was nursing along. “I haven’t seen you before. Did you just get here?”
“Earlier today,” she confirmed, starting to move to the music again. “I won the trip as a door prize at work.”
“Wow, awesome! This is my work, pretty much.”
Drinking and dancing? Then she realized what he meant. He worked for the resort, obviously. “Nice. What do you do here?”
She was expecting “surfing instructor,” possibly “tennis pro,” but he came back with, “I lead glass-bottomed-kayak tours.”
He wasn’t dancing, exactly, just moving in time with the music, a subtle shift of his weight and hips back and forth. Cool. Smooth. A faint voice in her head said it wasn’t a good thing that he seemed practiced at what he was doing here. Tropical-flavored liquor gently drowned the voice out, as soft and warm as the nearby surf. The guy was exactly what she’d been looking for. No strings. No clutter. She could do this.
“Kayak tours? That’s so cool.”
Things were definitely getting back on track.
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