I recite all the things as I paddle back to shore, and while I pull my plastic kayak out of the water. I sling the strap of my soft-sided cooler over one shoulder, then hoist the kayak up over my head. On my way to the truck, I hear a man shouting.
"Hey, hey!"
Since I'm carrying a kayak, I can't easily see if the voice is calling to me. And since I'm not a horse, I don't respond tohey. So I keep walking in the direction of my truck.
I hear the thwack of flip-flopped footsteps striking the asphalt — it's a uniquely Florida sound — and I turn, kayak and all. It's hard for me to know if the person is to my right or left because my boat's obscuring my vision.
The tip of my kayak makes contact with something. I freeze.
"Ow! Crap!"
"Eep. I'm so sorry!" I gingerly set the kayak on the asphalt and gasp.
Oh dear. It's the guy from the platform. He's clutching his right shoulder with his left hand and his face is contorted with pain. He's still only wearing dark blue board shorts. No shirt. I glance down and take in his abs, which are even better on land.
I gape at him appreciatively. Probably inappropriate since I just injured the poor guy with my kayak.
"Oh my goodness, I'm such a klutz," I cry.
He grins. "S'okay."
"Is it? No. It's not okay. Did I break your arm?"
"Aw, heck no. Just a little flesh wound. Don't need that arm anyway." He removes his hand and there's a bright red spot on his muscular shoulder. I step forward to inspect it, acutely aware of how much taller he is than me. How his skin is taut over those muscles. How he's disarmingly attractive.
"When I'm carrying the kayak, I have no peripheral vision."
"Don't worry about it. I just wanted to make sure you didn't get away from me. Unless, of course, you want to get away. Then I won't stop you. Just don't hit me with your kayak again."
The fact that he's giving me an out is endearing. I wave my hand in the air. "You're the guy from the platform."
Um, duh.
He chuckles. "Yeah, the one you swam away from."
Our eyes meet and I begin to perspire. "I was trying to be mysterious. Or something."
He cocks his head. "Well, you accomplished that."
We stare at each other without blinking, then both of us burst out laughing.
"Hey, instead of standing here in the middle of the parking lot on the hot asphalt, want to grab a drink? My sister-in-law's tiki bar is right there, within walking distance.” He points to a thatched-roof hut that has seen better days. “It’s closed today, but she's there and will let us sit on the deck."
I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. I have a list to write and a bar to open and a million things to do. But I've been basically alone for weeks, just me and my plans, holed up in my bungalow. No dates, no parties, no social life. Which has been great, but...
But he looks so hopeful. And friendly. And kind.
And I'm lonely as heck. That's probably why I was so instantly attracted to him back there in the water. I'm starved for human interaction. Another reason I should chat him up: I'm going to open a bar, and at some point, I'll need to network with other locals. He might introduce me to others in town. This isnetworking.
"Sure," I say briskly, like I accept offers from men every day. "But let me put my kayak in my truck."
"I'll help with that." With those big hands of his, he picks up my plastic boat and hoists it over his head as if it's a toy. His arm muscles flex. I stare, my face growing warmer by the second.
"Plus, it'll save me from further injury." He winks. A little shimmer of awareness goes through me when I spot how long his dark eyelashes are. Maybe this is more than just being starved for human interaction.
"Funny," I say.
"Uh, where to?"