And, by that, I meant a cloud of smoke and the sexy and intriguing man who accompanied it.
“You look better as a brunette,” Sam announced as he sauntered up next to me with a cigarette hanging from his lips.
A smile pulled at one side of my mouth.
He was wearing jeans and a black, long-sleeve button-down shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, which drew my eyes down to the colored inked on his arms, and I wondered what they meant. But, seeing as my heart was racing and I couldn’t figure why I was suddenly nervous around this man, I decided to give up on the deeper meaning behind his tattoos and worry about covering my clammy palms instead.
“No jacket again?” I asked, pulling the beanie low over my curls.
“Any chance tomorrow night you’re going to lose the shades?” he replied, ignoring my question.
“Not likely.”
“Your legs are healing up well,” he stated, leaning on the railing beside me.
“They looked a lot worse than they were.”
“Right.” He rolled his eyes, which I noticed were the most amazing shade of gold. Not quite hazel, but definitely not brown.
Damn it! Stop ogling the hot, suicidal man!
I flipped my gaze back to the water. “Your hand looks better tonight.”
He paused just before he got the cigarette to his mouth. “You noticed? I was worried you were gonna stop checking me out after you drove off with another man last night,” he said roughly, causing me to swing my head to face him. “Is he the one who gave you the bruises?”
Ugh!
“What? No! Besides, I told you there is no him. I fell down the stairs.”
“Whatever.” He brushed my honest answer off, but thankfully, his attitude also seemed to disappear. “So, you feeling better tonight?”
“Actually, yes. Now, let me see your hand.”
He twisted his lips, but he lifted it for me to inspect his cut.
“What’d you do?”
“Splintered it on a guitar.”
Now that perked my attention. “You’re a musician?” I asked as the idea of Sam strumming beside me made my cheeks heat.
I tried to hide my face by refocusing on his palm, even though I had no idea what I was looking at. I just wasn’t ready to drop his hand yet.
“Not in the least. I tore it apart to make a bookshelf.”
My gaze snapped to his. “A bookshelf?”
“Yeah. Just cut off the front and then added shelves.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket and started scrolling through pictures. It took him a minute to find the image he wanted, and it wasn’t lost on me that he did it one-handed.
What the fuck am I doing?
Again.
After dropping his hand, I tugged my beanie down as he thrust his phone in my face.
Sure enough, there was an acoustic guitar with the front cut off and three wooden shelves running horizontal inside the body.
“It’s for kids books, but I guess you could use it for spices or something too. They’d have to be short though” He sidled up beside me so we could look at the picture together. “Or maybe some little knickknacks? I don’t know.”
“Wow,” I breathed. “You made that?” While he was close, I stole a deep breath of the musky scent of Sam’s cologne. He shouldn’t have smelled that good—not while smoking a cigarette. But he absolutely did, so I took another not-so-conspicuous whiff.
“Yep,” he boasted proudly, flashing me a megawatt grin my hidden gaze lingered on a little too long.
Okay, that’s a bit of an understatement. I stared.
And his smile grew as he stared at me…staring at him.
And it continued.
For entirely too long.
But not nearly long enough.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he finally asked, snapping me out of my stupor.