Chapter 3
Reed
The beautiful ball of quirkiness walked away, and I unapologetically stared at her ass.
Her hips didn’t sway, and there was something even more alluring about how sexy this girl was without even trying.
I felt a tug in my body, but not in the expected place.
This little interaction definitely affected that part of me, but this feeling was higher.
Like in that little place in your chest that bubbled up when you watched a cute baby-animal video.
That’s right. Real men love baby animals.
Before I let myself analyze this feeling of intrigue further, I grabbed my camera bag from under my barstool and strapped it across my chest. With a deep sigh and shake of my head, I gave my bag a pat and walked out of the sports bar.
I was greeted by the bustling traffic of people filtering in and out of shops, restaurants, and bars on the boardwalk.
Carousel music played in the background, and a hum of voices rang through the deck.
Normally, I’d get caught up in the energy of the send-off celebration, but my flight from Vermont landed at five this morning, and I barely made it to the port on time. Jet lag was a bitch.
The alluring scent of coffee filled my nostrils, and as if in zombie mode, I followed my nose, turning into a surprisingly quiet café. The only sound the whirring of the espresso machine and soft acoustic music.
I found a table in the corner and sat, rubbing my hands down my face for a few moments.
With a deep inhale, I opened my laptop and watched drowsily as it booted up.
I entered my password—Gingersdoitbetter88—and stared blankly at my desktop.
Two beautiful faces covered my screen, and a tinge of longing poked at me.
Normally, I lived for these trips. Meeting new people.
Indulging with… new people. All on the company card.
My work as a photographer for Adventurecations had taken me all over the world.
Planes, cruises, trains—every bit of travel catered to my need for newness, adrenaline, and beauty.
Home had been a rotating array of hotels, staterooms, B&Bs, and even the occasional cottage. Wherever my assignments took me.
Lately, however, the tether at home was becoming tauter. I’d never been a homebody, though, and I didn’t plan on anchoring anytime soon.
The smell of coffee shook me out of my daze, reminding me of what brought me here.
I walked up to the barista and ordered my go-to drink for travel days like this: a large quad-shot iced coffee. Ordering it alone brought temporary relief to the drowsy ache in my head, and as I waited at the counter, I watched the people moving about the promenade through the café window.
Blinking lights caught my eye, and my gaze fell on the rowdy bachelorette party wading through the crowd.
My attention snapped right to a yellow dress, creamy skin, and delicious curves.
I didn’t even know the girl’s name, but her smile was etched in my memory.
Just picturing the sweet upturn of her lips made mine twitch.
The barista handed me my drink, pulling me from my little daydream.
Back at my table, I opened Photoshop and uploaded the images from my last destination. A beautiful scenery of lush hills sprinkled with reds, purples, and oranges.
After an hour of losing myself in my work, a voice behind me broke my attention, and I snuck a glance over my shoulder. Of course it was her. She had changed into an oversized set of sweats. And her brown hair was down, falling below her shoulder blades.
I battled with the idea of approaching her, getting her out of my system. Get answers for the questions plaguing me.
Was her hair as velvety as it appeared? Was the gloss that made her full lips look extra kissable as delicious as it looked? Where was she ticklish?
But I turned back to my computer instead, mindlessly scrolling through email chains and listening for—no, craving—her voice again.
“Can I have a large, like, super-large iced latte with, like, one hundred shots?”
The barista laughed, and I dipped my chin to hide my grin.
Her voice sweetened. “Just an iced latte, four added shots, and maybe a squirt of vanilla, please.” This girl might be awkward with the bar scene, but she sure knew her coffee, and her mix of soft and sexy intrigued me.
I could practically feel her fidgeting behind me as she waited. When I heard her drink called, my shoulders sank, knowing she’d be leaving. And what exactly would I do if I stopped her, anyway? A girl like that clearly wasn’t the vacation-fling type, no matter how much her friends goaded her.
Opening the Photoshop window again, I sipped my coffee and let the hum of the café drift away while I edited and saved the latest collection of photos and then sent them over to my boss.
Lifting the coffee cup to my lips, I drained the last of the contents before darting a look at the clock. Only 6:00 p.m.
Now what?