5. Daria
Five
Daria
Sitting on a blanket in the sand, watching the tide roll in while sharing a bottle of water and a chocolate bar, is exactly the kind of date sixteen-year-old me used to daydream about.
Back then, I imagined moonlight.
A handsome guy.
Butterflies.
Maybe one magical kiss.
I definitely didn't picture a six-foot-something biker with long dark hair, tattoo sleeves, and moss-green eyes that looked like they held tiny embers around the irises.
Or the way those eyes seemed to flash gold every now and then.
That has to be the moonlight, right?
Whatever it is, it is ridiculously sexy.
Everything about Rand Jameson is ridiculously sexy.
His deep voice.
His rough hands.
The scruff along his jaw.
The easy confidence that somehow never crosses into arrogance.
He looks dangerous.
But sitting beside me, he treats me like I’m something precious.
Like I’m someone worth being careful with.
And honestly? That’s new. Most people—okay, most men—see a plus size woman and think she can take care of herself.
And I can.
But sometimes it’s really nice to not have to.
“Cold?”
His voice breaks into my thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“You shivered.”
“Oh!” I laugh. “No. Just... thinking.”
“Dangerous pastime.”
“Is that a Beauty & the Beast reference?”
“Might be.”
“Do you like Disney movies?”
“I have half a dozen assorted nieces and nephews, so yeah.”
“So can I expect more of these unexpected jokes?”
“It’s a good bet I'll probably make one again.”
I bump my shoulder against his.
“I kind of like it.”
He smiles.
“I kind of like making you laugh.”
Lord.
This man.
I glance towards the ocean.
“So...”
“So?”
“You go around punching women’s dates all the time?”
He chuckles.
“Nope.”
“Just mine?”
“He deserved it. But I sincerely hope I don’t have to again.”
I grin.
“I should probably apologize about punching Brad,” he adds.
“Chad.”
“I thought it was Brad.”
“I honestly don't know,” I reply and shrug.
He laughs so hard that his shoulders shake.
“Well, I've been calling him Brad in my head all night.”
“Yeah? Well, he was a terrible date.”
“The worst.”
“And yet the night isn’t a total bust,” I whisper.
He turns toward me.
“Nope. It sure isn’t. You ended up with me.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks.
“I did.”
He studies me for a long moment, and I think we’re going to kiss—but then he surprises me with a question.
“So, tell me about yourself.”
Interesting pivot, sir.
Still, I hesitate. I mean, I’m a lot and I don’t know how much to tell him. But for some reason, I don’t want to hide or lie. I want him to know me.
And that’s also new.
I shouldn’t feel so comfortable with him.
He’s a stranger.
But there’s something about this man that makes me want to throw caution to the wind.
Maybe I will for tonight.
Just maybe.