A few of the men are in board shorts or khakis. Those are the locals. I’m not going anywhere near the locals for this challenge.
I’m aiming for a nice and easy overconfident asshole tourist. They’re easy prey. Always on the lookout for a local to hook up with for a night or two. It always ends the same way though, with him jetting back to the northeast or Europe or Asia or wherever they came from. There is no such thing as a happily-ever-after hookup with a tourist. Everybody here knows that. And that’s why it’s my number one rule.
“There,” I say, pointing as nonchalantly as I can to a guy in a charcoal suit with a pink tie off to the side drinking alone.
As I watch him, he looks down at his phone constantly, possibly texting a date. But I recognize the restless expression on his face instantly. I could get his number easily, and he’d squirrel it away in case the first few numbers on his list don’t work out.
“I don’t know, he looks fine, but he’s a total tourist.” Angie says, scrunching up her face.
“Look around, Angie, they’re all tourists.” I get up and adjust my tank top, turning the heads of several male patrons around me. Maybe Angie and Fi are right and I’ve been selling myself short lately after all.
I waggle a finger at Angie. “Hey, no changing the rules now. The challenge is for a phone number. I get a number, I win the challenge, whether they’re a tourist or not. To victory!”
I yell it a little too loudly and cheers around me erupt. I give a short curtsy and mutter thank you, I’ll be here all night, as I set off.
That done, I stumble forward in search of sweet, sweet victory. The warm evening summer sand squishes under my feet and in between my toes as I make my way forward, weaving in between tables and lit tiki torches as I move toward my prey.
Something in my peripheral vision catches my eye. It’s Abigail, waving. I didn’t think she had been close enough to eavesdrop, but I could swear now she is chanting: “Chall-enge. Chall-enge.”
I smile and wave back. “Hi, Abigail.”
Okay, Kaylee, focus. Hurry up and get that guy’s number so you can go back to the table and enjoy the rest of girls’ night.
I straighten my back, put my flirty game face on, and turn toward the charcoal, pink tie suit guy. Which means basically doing a full one-hundred-eighty-degree turn. While buzzed. And barefoot in the sand. It’s a tricky maneuver, and I nail it. Until I don’t.
What I thought at first was nailing it was really crashing into side traffic that had popped up while I was waving at Abigail.
I crash right into a tall guy wearing a different shade of charcoal suit. Ugh, they’re everywhere. Well, more specifically, I crash into his hand, then his drink, and then his rock-hard chest.
I look up and watch the slow speed crash that I caused. My gaze goes from his hand to the drink spilled on his shirt and then all the way up to his face.
His very handsome, very exasperated face. Oops. I have to admit, tourist or no, this guy is super sexy. His sea-green eyes flash down at me while I eye his strong jawline, sculpted face, and brown hair that is exactly the right amount of messed up to make him more and not less attractive.
I have to fight the urge to gasp. He is exactly what I am looking for in a phone number right now, and if he didn’t look so angry, I might have asked for his number instead of continuing to wander across the bar toward the pink tie guy. Oh well.
“My bad, so sorry,” I say.
He looks like he’s going to say something back at first, and then his lips squish into a line that makes his angry, beautiful, sea-green eyes flash again. He stands there silently as a stone, as if wrestling with the words.
After a moment of silence, standing over me like a sentry, he waves me by. He’s acting like he’s being all gentlemanly. But I don’t think that’s it.
I think it’s more of a realization on his part that right now I’m an airplane going down in flames and he’s like an insurance adjuster who wants to keep his distance so he won’t have to fill out a giant stack of paperwork afterward. “After you,” he says in a low, growly voice that has more of an effect on my body than I expect.
I catch myself still staring up at the handsome face and made-to-look messy but actually perfectly coifed brown hair. Then I snap out of it.
“Thank you,” I say far more sarcastically than I should have, considering I’m the one who crashed into him. But he is a little too grumpy about it because accidents happen.
I move forward now, and I can see that the coast is clear to pink tie tourist. Game on.
Chapter Two
Chase
It takes all of the calm I have not to yell at the girl who just spilled my own drink all over me. And the reason I hold back is because it’s the girl from the table dance. There’s no forgetting her.
She’s all curves and swirling black hair. She’s impossible to miss, and I know for a fact that every guy in the bar watched that performance. She has a fun, athletic, carefree way about her that is absolutely foreign to me. Irritating and enticing all at the same time. I’m sure it’s best for everyone if she and I just move along.
I will be the first to admit that I have a type. Rich, tall, leggy, blond, and socially connected. Although now that I think about it, maybe they were the ones finding me and not the other way around.
Maybe I should do something about that. I consider it as she apologizes, sort of. Staring
