His eyes twinkled as he grabbed his shirt off the back of his chair and wiped away the crust of sand that I, and Banana Boat, had plastered to his arm and his perfectly cut abs. When he was done, he dropped his shirt and turned his broad back to me before looking over his shoulder. “C’mon. I’ll give you a piggyback.”
I stared for a moment, because his offer seemed a little strange. My acute desire to spread chocolate sauce on his lovely muscles before licking it off aside…strangers didn’t generally give strangers piggyback rides.
“I’m good, actually. I need a good sprint. It’ll open up my lungs a little. Thanks, though.” For good measure, I threw him a thumbs-up. Nothing screamed confidence and I got this like a good ol’ thumbs-up.
“I can practically feel the heat radiating off the sand,” he said, turning to survey me. “It has to be hot.”
“Just don’t pee on it to see if it steams,” I said. His friend snorted. “But anyway, no thanks. I can make it. It’s not that far.”
“And then what?” he asked.
“I haven’t gotten that far yet…”
He laughed and stepped closer, repeating the stoop. “Get on.”
His back was within patting distance, so I gave him a double tap, followed by a slight push. “Seriously. I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t like accepting help, huh?”
Clearly he wasn’t aware of the strangeness of adults giving random piggybacks. “Seriously, I’ll be fine.” I pat-pushed him again. The man had no give in his back. He could do with a donut. “I’ll be okay, really.”
“When does a man get to help a damsel in distress anymore?” he persisted. “You have to give this to me.”
“He won’t let it go until he gets his way,” his friend said, looking on with a grin. “It’s one of his more annoying character flaws.”
Oh, super. A tag-team effort.
“C’mon.” He backed right up to me and then reached around, corralling me with his large arms.
“I can’t— I mean—” Reluctantly giving in, I shimmied up his back and clutched his meaty shoulders, my face burning hotter than my feet.
No, I probably wouldn’t have taken a ride from just any stranger. An older man? Absolutely not. This guy’s friend? Tempting, but still no. The friend seemed a little douchey, from his frosted hair, which should not have ever been trendy, let alone for the second time in memorable history, to his hipster beard.
But this guy?
Well…
“Oh wait, my sandals.” I reached for the discarded footwear. I was way too high up, though, since he was over six feet tall and I was secured to his back like a spider monkey.
“We’ll get them on the way back. Where to?”
“I was just going for a cocktail. But it’s fine. You can just—”
“Okay, here we go.” He launched forward like a panther. I held on for dear life. “Doesn’t the waiter come around to take orders?”
My hand skimmed a sculpted pec. I flinched away. “He does, but it’s like…an hour and a half between visits,” I said.
“Couldn’t wait that long?” His tone was full of suppressed laughter.
“Actually, I wasn’t planning on drinking, so I didn’t stop the waiter the last time I saw him. I changed my mind, but by then he was gone.”
I shrugged, uncomfortably aware of my heels bumping near his crotch. I strained them away, which put tremendous pressure on my legs. I tightened my hold and shimmied a little higher. My calves rubbed against his washboard stomach.
No, I hadn’t tried very hard to resist the piggyback, if someone were keeping track…
“What made you change your mind?” He threaded between two towels before veering around an umbrella.
“It’s just a work thing,” I said. “I’d planned on one approach, but then my boss sided with my idiot coworkers and changed everything at the last minute. It’s all gone tits up.”
He chuckled. “So drinking is your solution?” He stepped onto the concrete and continued down the walkway toward my destination.
“My presentation is about as good as it’s going to get,” I said. “So yes, a little libation is just the ticket.”
He stopped in front of the bar and bent over. His grip loosened and I slid off his back.
I wiped my moist forehead. “So, anyway, thanks.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Oh no, it’s fine. Honest.” His sea-foam eyes sparkled with intelligence and fire.
Jesus Christ, but the man was hot. God had beaten the ugly right out of him.
I abruptly turned away. Lust was a bad idea. Especially when I was about to add tequila to the equation. The last time I’d mixed the two, it had ended in a restraining order.
Why the judge had thought I was stalking, I’ll never know. Since when was it illegal to be on the sidewalk? Sure, I’d happened to walk the same sidewalk a few times, in a row, for days at a time, but walking was healthy. It hadn’t become a problem until I saw him hooking up with Milee, the chick he’d sworn he wasn’t cheating on me with.
That was when tequila had intervened, and the rocks through his windows seemed like a stellar idea.
I think the whole courtroom agreed that he deserved it…