Page 11 of Sugar
He wastall.
My fourteen-year-old self’s dreams of a growth spurt had sadly never come true. Even if I had grown that extra six inches, I still would’ve needed to crane my neck to look at him.
There was a light dusting of stubble on his jaw that I hadn’t noticed from across the room. His nose was also slightly crooked, like it’d been broken at one point but hadn’t set quite right. Both added an edge to his appeal.
Doug turned toward Mr. Stud, attorney at law, and gestured toward our huddle. “This is my daughter, Greer, and her friends, Madeline and Wren. Girls, this is Easton Wells.”
Girls.
Ack.
It wasn’t like I’d planned to chat up the lawyer. Checking him out was one thing. Like fine art in a museum, I could look. That didn’t mean I could—or even wanted to—touch.
But being referred to asgirlswas still mortifying. It highlighted that Sexy McHot Stuff, Esquire, was playing MLB while I was taking a spinning swing down in tee-ball.
Starting with Greer, Easton shook hands like we were power players gathering for a business meeting and not a trio ofgirls.When he got to me, his large hand engulfed mine. His fingers were surprisingly calloused for a fancy lawyer, and his grip was warm and strong.
He released the hold and gave Greer his attention. “Your dad tells me you leave for your senior year in the morning. Are you excited?”
Her brain short circuited, but she snapped out of it quickly. “I am, Mr. Wells.”
“Call me Easton.” His eyes scanned between Wren and me. “Do you also go to Coastal?”
Wren might’ve despised lawyers, but she still looked two seconds from twirling her hair and kicking her feet as she nodded up at him.
I assumed her response counted for both of us, but his expectant gaze went to me.
God, he’s hot.
Wait, what am I supposed to be doing?
Oh. Right. Answering.
I nodded. “Yes, Mr. Wells.”
Unlike with Greer, he didn’t tell me to call him by his first name. I had no clue why I’d used any name.
Well, except the obvious. He was intimidating, and his focus on me was enough to make me flustered. I was just relieved I’d gone with the polite title, and not any of the stupid ones I’d been using in my head.
He gave a subtle nod. “Good.”
I didn’t know what was good about it, but it didn’t matter. It was my turn for my brain to fritz out.
Greer’s mom, Eve, slipped in between us to stand next to her husband, flawlessly stepping into her role as hostess. She peppered Easton with questions about when he’d moved to LA and how long he’d been practicing law.
His answers got mixed with Wren and Greer’s conversation as they whispered next to me, but my focus stayed fixed on Easton.
His polite head nods.
The way his neck muscles moved as he spoke.
How he unbuttoned his suit jacket and pushed the material back before sliding his hands in his pockets—a move that was commandingandshowed off that he was even more fit than I’d thought.
I couldn’t drag my gaze away.
And I really should have.
Chapter 2
