“Yeah, sure you don’t want to talk to the super hot girl, Gunner.” Max rolls his eyes at me.
“How do you know she’s super hot?” The words are out before I can stop them.
As far as I know, Max hasn’t seen her up close, not that I have actually seen her up close. Just the quick glimpses of her as she’s walked past here. But the glimpses I have gotten, I’ve liked—a lot.
A shit-eating grin spreads across Max’s face. “Because I talked to her yesterday.”
“You talked to her?” My voice has suddenly gotten weirdly higher.
Why the hell did Max talk to Rock Girl? And why is he only just now telling me this?
He lets out a prolonged deep chuckle. “Yeah, I did. When you went in to shower after your little hour-long hot-girl gazing session, I decided to go for a swim. And your little hottie came back, as she’d left something up on that rock she sits on. A fucking pencil or something. Seemed important to her.” He shrugs. “Anyway, after she found this pencil and was climbing back down off the rock, she dropped her bag, spilling her stuff everywhere. Being the gentleman that I am, I helped her pick things up—tampons, lipstick. You know, girl things.” He grins.
I lift my eyes to the sky.
Gentleman, my ass.
Max wouldn’t know a gentleman if one actually came up and smacked him across the face. Not that I would either, but that’s not the point. The point is, Max talked to my Rock Girl.
My Rock Girl? When did she become mine?
“She seems nice. And she’s really hot, bro,” he goes on. “I did consider asking her out myself, but I didn’t want to break your little stalker heart.”
“Hey!” Darcy screeches, swatting him on the arm.
“Only kidding, babe.” He gives her that smooth grin of his that all the chicks fall for. “I mean, why would I ask her out when I’ve got you?”
He pats her on the arm, pacifying her, and the second she looks away, he smirks at me.
Bastard.
He’d have asked Rock Girl out even if Darcy was riding cowgirl on his cock at the time.
Nothing stops Max when it comes to a woman he wants. He’s like me, in that respect—well, apart from Rock Girl. Because, out of the two of us, I’m apparently the one without the balls to go speak to her.
“You’re a bastard, you know,” I say, fighting a smile.
“Takes a bastard to know a bastard.” His grin gets bigger.
“True.” I can’t argue with that.
Now, I’m feeling really twitchy, and I want to ask him more about his conversation with Rock Girl, but with Darcy standing there, I can’t. That, and it’d only give Max more ammo to torture me with.
“Anyway, I’m bailing ’cause I’m fucking starving. All the sex works up an appetite, which you would know, if you’d gotten laid lately.”
I flip him off.
I got laid a few days ago, and he knows it. Hot lifeguard who works on Zuma Beach. We were down there, surfing, and she was cute. After I finished surfing, I fucked her in her tower in the middle of her shift. Fortunately, no one needed saving at the time.
“You want me to bring you any food back?” Max asks, taking a step back inside the house.
“Nah, I’m good. I’ll get something later.”
“Bye, Adam,” Darcy says in an annoying singsong voice.
God, I hope he doesn’t bring her back with him.
“Later.” I lift my chin at her before turning back to Rock Girl.
She’s still sitting there, sketching away. I watch as she puts her pencil down on the pad and tilts her head back toward the sky, soaking the last of the sun up.
She looks so peaceful and so damn pretty.
“Gunner?”
I turn back to the sound of Max’s voice. “Yeah?”
“Do me a favor. Just go ask Evie out before you totally lose your man card and quite possibly get arrested for stalking. I really don’t wanna have to come bail your ass out of jail.”
“Fuck you.” I laugh as I grab an empty beer can from the patio table, left out from our drinking session last night, and throw it at him.
Max ducks, the can just missing him.
Then, I realize what he just said. “Evie?”
His lips lift into a knowing smile. “Yeah. That’s her name, which you would already know if you’d manned the fuck up and talked to her the first time you saw her.” He jerks his chin in her direction. “Just put us both out of our misery and go talk to her.” He raps his knuckles on the doorframe before disappearing.
Why is he so keen on me talking to Evie?
Evie.
I let her name roll around my mind. It’s pretty, really pretty.
Adam and Evie. Like Adam and Eve. In the Garden of Eden—or the Bed of Adam—fucking like animals.
Seriously, what is wrong with me? I’m imagining having sex with this girl, and I haven’t even spoken to her.
I can’t believe Max spoke to her first, and he got her name.
Fucker.
Okay, this is just stupid. I need to just go over there and speak to her.
That’s it. I’m going to do it.
I’ll go for a run on the beach, and while I’m there, I’ll strike up a conversation with her. If I don’t, Max will only torment me about it. And then, he might possibly ask her out himself.
She’s just a girl, Gunner. You’ve talked to plenty of pretty girls before.
But the difference is, I never wanted to know anything about those other girls. Each conversation was for one reason only—the end game.
But this one, I think I might actually want to get to know her—and not just know the color of her panties.
I make a quick change into a pair of running shorts and a tank, and then I pull on my running shoes. I tie my hair back, so it’s out of the way while I’m running. Then, I grab my water bottle and fill it up.
Before leaving, I make a quick check out back to make sure she’s still there.
Yep, she’s there—and yep, I’m still as lame as ever.
Heading out the front door, I jog along the path on the highway, so I can come onto the beach via the walkway.
I don’t want to come out from the back of the house, as it’s not far enough away from where she’s sitting. This way, I’ll be coming toward her for a good period of time, so if I stop to take a break, it won’t look so weird.
When did I start overthinking things? And just exactly when did I lose my balls?
Apparently, on the day I saw a pretty blonde girl sitting up on a rock.
I jog up the street for a few minutes and then take the path off to the walkway to take me to the beach. It brings me out about three hundred yards away from Evie.
Game time, Gunner.
Feet hitting the sand, I begin jogging toward her.
The closer I get, the faster my heart starts to beat. And it has nothing to do with the exercise because I’ve barely even begun running.
It’s because of her.
What is it about this girl that has me in all kinds of knots? How can I feel so nervous over a girl I’ve never even spoken to?
She hasn’t noticed me yet. I keep my eyes on her throughout my approach.
She has the tip of the pencil pressed to her lower lip as she stares down at her sketchpad, a frown marring her forehead.
Not that far from her now, I slow my pace, coming to a stop a few feet away from her, under the pretense that I need to stop to catch my breath.