“I am. ” I scoop up more sand, determined to make the hill bigger if nothing else. At this point I’d be happy if it ends up looking like a fire-ant mound. After all, then at least it’d be home to something.
Tori watches me with an indulgent smile for a couple more minutes, but after I’ve tried—and failed—numerous times to add on to the hill, she stands up and brushes off her legs. “I’m ready for a beer. ”
“Are you kidding me? This was your idea to begin with. ”
“Yeah, because I thought it’d be fun. And it was. But now it’s not anymore, so…time for food. The smell of those carne asada tacos has had my mouth watering for the past fifteen minutes. ”
Mine too. Still, I glare at our pathetic excuse for a castle. I hate the thought that a pile of sand has somehow gotten the better of me. “You go ahead,” I tell her. “I’m going to try this a couple more times. ”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue with me. She knows me too well. “Fine. I’ll go grab some tacos and find seats. When I text you, I expect you to stop tilting at windmills and come eat with me. ”
“Ooh, a Don Quixote reference. I am so impressed. ”
“And well you should be. ” She sticks her tongue out at me. “I didn’t sleep through my entire Spanish lit class last semester. No matter how tempting it was. ”
“You’re a better woman than I. ”
She snorts. “I wish. ”
There’s something in her voice that has me glancing up. “You okay?” I start to get up. Making a damn sand castle may have turned into a ridiculous quest, but she’s still my best friend. If something’s wrong, she comes first.
But she just waves for me to sit back down. “I’m fine. Finish your beach shack and then get your ass back over to the bonfire so we can
gossip about your ridiculously hot boss some more. ”
With that parting shot, she turns and walks away, completely oblivious to what her mention of Ethan has done to me. I shift a little, trying to ignore the need that twinges at the very heart of me. It doesn’t work—but then again, when has it? Whether I’ve wanted him there or not, Ethan has been on my mind almost continuously since I met him Monday.
After what happened in his office last night, I expected him to try to contact me today. Something beyond that brief, and weird, meeting in the cafeteria during lunch, I mean. But he hasn’t. No phone call, no delivery, not even a quick text message to say hi. Nothing that might give me the idea that he’s been thinking about me at all.
And while I tell myself I’m being an idiot, that he’s the owner and CEO of one of the fastest-growing companies in the country, I know I still have my panties in a twist over it. Why do guys act like they’re interested and pursue you until they wear down your resistance, only to lose interest right about the time you start thinking they might be interesting? I’ve seen it happen to Tori over and over again, and it drives me nuts every time. This is the first time it’s happened to me, but that’s only because I don’t put myself out there. Or at least I haven’t in a very long time. And I’m rethinking whether I want to now or not.
Then again, it’s not like I really have anything to say to him if he does call. But still. I expected him to. More, I wanted him to. That thought only makes me more annoyed with him. I was fine before he sent that stupid envelope, completely good with the superficial knowledge I had of him. Then he had to go and show me more. He had to make me want. And that only makes me more annoyed—with him, with myself, with the entire situation.
I slam the bucket down on top of my hill a little harder than I intend, and watch in frustration as a crack works its way straight down the middle of all my hard work. Damn it. I guess it’s a good thing I’m pre-law instead of an architecture major.
“I like your sepulcher. It’s a very…what’s the word I’m looking for here?”
“Uninterested. ” I don’t bother looking up. I don’t have to see him to know I’ve got no interest in some guy trying his luck on the beach. Even if the sudden prickling of my nerve endings says otherwise.
“And here I was going to say it was interesting. ” He leans down a little, puts his mouth closer to my ear so I can hear the tenor of his voice now, even over the din of the crowd. Realization sinks in and I stiffen, even before he says, “Hi, Chloe. ”
The damn chills are back double time, although how I can feel both hot and cold at the same time—without having the flu—is a mystery to me. “Ethan. ” I turn to look at him. I can’t help it. His presence is like a magnet I have no defense against. I want to see him. “What are you doing here?”
“Building community. Saving the oceans. You know, the usual. ”
“Frost Industries is sponsoring this event. ” It’s not a question. Only now do I remember reading about Ethan’s philanthropic interests. For obvious reasons, he spends a lot of time and money doing stuff for veterans, but the environment—and the oceans, in particular—is another big interest of his. I think back to the day I met him, to the board shorts and flip-flops. The Save Our Oceans stuff actually makes perfect sense.
“It’s a good event,” I tell him a little grudgingly. I guess I’m more upset about him not calling than I thought.
“I’m glad you approve. ” He sits down on the other side of the sand castle, gently extricates the bucket from my sudden death grip, and starts to pack it with sand. “So, are you really building a sand tomb?”
I look at the mess in front of me. “It’s supposed to be a sand castle. ”
He laughs. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re pre-law then, hmm?”
His words so perfectly echo my own thoughts from a few minutes ago that I can’t help but stare at him. It feels weird to think the same things as him.
When he sees my expression, his smile fades. “You know I’m just kidding, right?”