Brody spoke up. "Let's just get it over with, alright?"
My jaw clenched.Get it over with?Like it was some sort of punishment?"Fine." I looked back to Roy. "Just point me where I need to go."
In reply, Roy flicked his head toward the rear of the house, the part that faced the beach. "Act like you're showing him the sights or something – you know, sunrise over the beach and all that."
I loved the beach at sunrise.
While living with my grandparents, I'd seen it so many times that maybe it should've gotten old and boring. But it never had. And, considering how much I loved it, it probably never would.
Under normal circumstances, I'd be thrilled to share it with just about anyone – well, anyoneexceptBrody Blastoviak, especially with the way he was looking at me now.
Judging from his expression, he'd rather be anywhere but here – and with anyone but me. As he looked me over, I returned the favor, giving him the same level of scrutiny.
Today, he was wearing his usual getup – jeans and a T-shirt, along with heavy work boots. His jeans were slightly loose, hanging low on his hips and hinting at the amazing abs resting just above the button of his faded jeans.
Thanks to the loose cut of his shirt, I couldn’t actually see his abs, but I'd caught enough glimpses over the past couple of days to imagine plenty, assuming that I cared to dwell on it, which I totally didn't.
When I refused to look away, Brody said, "Is there a problem?"
I stiffened at his tone. "Yes, actually."
I gave his boots a long, concerned look. During the whole time I'd lived at my grandparent's place, I'd never seen anyone strolling along the beach in work boots.
Since I was supposedly the consultant here, was this something I should point out?
Probably.
I looked to Roy and said, "If you want it to look authentic, shouldn't he be wearing tennis shoes or something?"
Brody's voice sliced out between us. "The boots are fine. It's a discussion, not a date."
I felt my eyes narrow.Talk about arrogant.
"Good," I said. "Because I wouldn't want to date you, anyway."
"Good," he shot back. "Because you're not my type."
"Yeah? Well you're not my type either."
He glowered at me. I glowered at him. And then, as if remembering that we had an audience, we both looked to Roy.
Son-of-a-bitch.
Roy was smiling like he'd just gotten lucky.Andhe was filming us.
Of course.
I gave Roy the squinty-eye. "Youdidsay this was visual only, right?"
In reply, Roy made that now-familiar forwarding motion with his hand, as if to indicate that we should ignore him and keep on doing whatever.
Suddenly, I decided that Brody had the right idea.Let's just get it over with.
Without further commentary, I turned and stomped toward the rear of the house, with Brody at my side.
In spite of the work boots, his stride was long and easy, especially compared to my own. But as far as everything else, there was nothing easy about him. As we traveled ever closer to the beach, I studied him from the corner of my eye. His jaw was set, and his mouth was tight. From head to toe, he looked royally irritated.
Yeah, welcome to the club, buddy.
