me?”
“It’s fine. Go ahead. Stare, dissect, picture me naked, whatever, anytime you like. I don’t mind.”
I scoff, my eyebrow raised. Is he serious?
He laughs, his mouth quirking. But I find my gaze wandering to the cut just above his eyebrow. I wonder how he got that?
“So, I’m curious,” he says, bringing my attention back to his crooked smile. “Where did you rate me at? Eleven maybe? On a scale of one to ten, ten being the highest?”
A nine, potentially a ten. But saying that out loud is out of the question. Not with his ego. “Zero,” I respond, folding my arms over myself.
He chuckles. “Snarky and beautiful. I like.” He extends his hand. “Harrington,” he says, and then pauses, like he’s said too much.
“Harri—” I snort, ignoring his hand.
He drops it and glares slightly, his good humor faltering.
I cover my mouth to hold back a giggle. “Are you serious?”
He waves his hand dismissively and turns around, bending down to pick up another rock.
“Yeah. My thoughts exactly. My parents . . .” he says, pausing like he’s looking for the right words, “were thinking unique. I was thinking why have me, if all you want is to scar me for the rest of my life.”
“It’s not that bad.”
He looks over his shoulder, shakes his head, and turns forward again. “You can’t even say that with a straight face.”
He has a point there. I run my hand over my mouth, like I’m wiping away bread crumbs, hoping to regain some control.
He flicks his wrist, releasing the rock with oomph. It sinks.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” I say, pointing to the ripples where his rock sank.
He turns around again, his eyebrow raised skeptically. “And how would you know?”
I bite my tongue, stopping myself from responding. I should go; it’s none of my business. But then again, he looks frustrated, his eyebrows crinkling as he hunts for another rock to sink. Maybe I could just give him a pointer or two . . .
No! It’s not my business. I turn around swiftly, with every intention of walking away, because that’s what the new me should do.
I don’t get very far, though, before I hear the tell-tale sound of a stone sinking. I sigh, and then pivot and march right back to where I was before. The old me obviously has a stronger will than the new me.
“You really suck at that,” I say.
He turns and looks at me, that smug smirk etching his mouth again. “And I thought you were leaving. Couldn’t bring yourself to leave behind a zero?”
I jerk my chin in his direction. “Hardly. I just hate watching so many rocks sacrifice themselves to your sucktastic rock-skipping skills.”
He tosses another stone over his head and winks. “I don’t know. I thought I kinda nailed that one.”
I roll my eyes. “In what universe?”
“The one where I’m always right.”
Wow. He did not just say that. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
He snorts. “No shit, sweetheart. What gave that away?”
I choose to ignore the obvious sarcasm and point at him. “Your form sucks. And you can’t use those bulky stones. Here, I’ll show you.” I search the area and find a skinny, flat round rock that’s about the size of my palm. I toss it over a few times to check the feel in my hands. Placing my index finger along its edge, I turn sideways and snap my wrist forward, quickly flicking the rock—like an underhand softball—to let it spin counter-clockwise.
“Four!” Harrington says in awe.
I shrug. Not my best. But better than his sunken stones. I pick up another and hand it to him. “Now you try.”
He arches one perfect thick eyebrow.
“It’s really simple,” I say. “Watch.” I demonstrate again, holding the stone between my thumb and index finger. I adjust my form, angling myself into a stable position. I then look back over my shoulder to catch his eye, only to find his gaze glued to my rear. I huff and snap my fingers. “Hell-o! Harry !”
His head snaps up to
Michelle Pace, Andrea Randall