Luke stands and leans over the table to get a look at my screen. “You did that?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, moving over a little so he can see better. “Her art really does most of the work, I just wanted to build something around that. It’s just code and—”
“I’m an idiot, and even I know it’s a lot harder than ‘just code,’?” he says. “Logan, that’s a great fucking site. The guys in my office just paid someone a shitload of money to build theirs and it doesn’t look half as good as this.”
I shrug and turn the screen back to me, returning to the dashboard and doing my best to look unaffected. Praise from Luke has done something strange to my insides. My stomach is warm and fluttery. I have to remind myself to keep my head down because I know this response will be written all over my face.
“Logan,” he says this time, a bit more forcefully to get my attention.
I blink up at him, hoping I can keep this overwhelming fondness tucked safely out of sight. “People pay a lot of money for work like this.”
“Some do.”
He looks at me with the most adorably confused smile. “Then why don’t you do more of this and serve fewer Heinekens to douchebags at the bar?”
I tilt my head and consider him through narrowed eyes. “I don’t know if you really classify as a douchebag, per se . . .” I tell him.
He looks mock-hurt. “Hey—I didn’t say I was a douchebag.”
“Oh, my bad.” I look back down at the screen with an evil little smile.
Under the table he stretches his legs out in front of him and brackets each of his feet against each of mine; the sides of our legs touch. “You’re avoiding my question.”
I shrug, holding my shoulders up tight for a few breaths. “Because people want experience and a big portfolio to pay you big money. I’ve done Oliver’s site, and now Lola’s, but I don’t have a ton of experience outside of school.”
He looks down at my laptop and back up again, meaningfully. “I’m no expert but you seem well on your way here,” he says. “Lola’s going to flip when she sees that.”
I bite the insides of my cheek to keep my smile in check. “Hopefully.”
“I still can’t believe everything that’s happening with her. The comic, a movie? I still remember her drawing dicks on the outside of all my notebooks.”
I snort. “Yeah, you might want to see if you have any of those lying around because they could be worth something one day. I know I’m keeping the little panel she drew and taped to the fridge. It’s an angry cat calling me an ass for drinking the orange juice.”
“You did all of this just today?” he asks.
I nod and take another sip of my drink. “Yeah, surfed this morning but got here around nine.”
He looks at his watch and I instinctively check the clock on my computer. Eleven eleven. I want to make a wish, but my breath catches in my throat at my first instinct to wish for something having to do with this guy across the table from me. Instead, I close my eyes and make a tiny wish for my web design business to take off someday soon.
Looking back up at me, Luke says, “So you’re saying you’ve been working for just over two hours doing the thing you went to school for—and which you’re actually really good at and could possibly make great money doing—and still managed to snag a few hours at the beach . . . interesting.”
“Have you been talking to my mom?” I ask him.
“Yeah, she and I talk most days.” He waves a casual hand in the air. “Usually just about how you never call, and how you should find a nice boy to bring home.”
“That sounds exactly like my mom.”
Luke’s phone makes a soft chime and I have to tamp down the pulse of irritation I still get whenever it goes off. He looks up, pocketing his phone obliviously. “Want to get some dinner later?”
“Actually I have plans,” I tell him, closing my laptop and slipping it into my bag.
His expression falls just the tiniest amount, making me wonder if I imagined it as his eyes flicker down to follow the movement of my hands as I wrap up my cord. “Plans?”
“Fred has a date and I promised him I’d watch his granddaughter.”
“Babysitting?” he asks. “How old is she?”
“Five going on sixteen. She’s the cutest thing. Anyway, before I head over, I need to run home and shower, eat. You know.” I stand and loop my bag across my body before pushing in my chair. Luke stands and my heart takes off at the whiff of ocean and the faint clean smell of his sweat.
Dinner with him sounds nice, though.
Damnit.
He reaches forward to untwist my strap on my shoulder. “All right.”
We stand there, the question hanging between us. I can tell he’s not going to push . . . for once.
“You wouldn’t want to babysit with me,” I say, looking up at him through my lashes. “I mean, you’d find that totally boring, right?”
I can’t believe I just asked him this. What twenty-three-and-a-half-year-old man in his right mind would want to come along to babysit?