Friction

“You can rub it on your neck and over your hair without getting it on your face.”

She frowned, placing her hands palms up. “This is ridiculous. I feel like I’m going on safari, not for a beer.”

“Small price to pay. You should wash your hands before we go, too.”

She put her hand out for the can. “Your turn.”

“I can get myself.”

She shrugged. “It’s your skin, slick.”

She walked back and washed her hands quickly before rejoining him. The entire lobby smelled like bug spray, but they were done and out the door, walking into the heavy, humid night air. Mosquitoes buzzed around them, disappointed and not biting. Sarah smiled.

“I’m glad you found that spray. I was going nuts in there.”

“Having a hard time settling into vacation?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Me, too. It’s been a while.”

“I guess you have to ease into it. Vacation can be hard work.”

They continued the pleasant small talk as they walked the narrow town streets toward the main strip, where they found the bar was still open. There were a few people around, touring the street that looked out over the marinas and the harbor, and the Coast Guard station buzzed with activity just across the way.

The bar was small, quiet and bathed in golden light. Sarah was surprised to see a small band setting up in the corner. Live music—who would’ve thought? Small wooden tables were scattered everywhere, and Logan led her to one near a dusky corner, away from the band.

They gave the waitress their orders and faced each other quietly in the dim light. Strangers sitting together like old friends, waiting for a beer. It was intimate, uncomfortably so. Sarah shifted in her chair, looking at the handsome man who sat so close to her that their knees almost touched under the small table. She moved hers to the left, trying to discreetly avoid the contact, and smiled at the young waitress when she delivered two frosty beers to the table.

“So…”

“So…”

They spoke simultaneously, laughed together, and broke the strain somewhat. Logan lifted his beer to her, and she did the same before drinking.

“It’s a shame.”

“What’s that?” Tilting her beer back, she took a sip, letting the amber liquid slide down her throat. It was perfect.

“The two of us, apparently such workaholics that we can’t get into the vacation groove.” He smiled across the table, tipping his bottle toward her. “But I have to admit, things are looking up.”

Sarah smiled and took another swig, trying to decide how to respond. She didn’t want to invite anything inadvertently—or did she? No. She didn’t know him, didn’t know what kind of man he was. You could never trust the impressions people offered you.

Swallowing slowly, she met his gaze, and found nothing more than friendly interest there. She loosened up.

“I’ve never had an actual vacation, not since I was a kid. I guess I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Who do you work for? They don’t offer any vacation time?”

“Oh, no. They offer it, but I don’t take it.” She began to explain further and then changed her mind. For some reason, she didn’t want to talk with him about her job. “Let’s not talk about work. Maybe we can help each other get into this vacation groove.”

His eyes warmed and she watched as the rim of the bottle was held poised before his straight, firm and slightly wet lips. Uh-oh.

“Fair enough. Let’s start over. No work, just play. Sound good?”

She nodded, oddly relieved.

“I wonder what kind of music they’re going to have.” He glanced toward the band, and then looked back to her.

“I just hope it’s not country. That really would be the last straw.”

As if by magic, two more beers appeared on the table, and Sarah realized she was feeling a little woozy. She had missed dinner, and the beer, which normally didn’t have more effect on her than a carbonated drink, was fuzzing her brain.

“I could use something to eat. Do they have a menu?”

A short time later, more beers were delivered, along with a stack of wings and loaded potato skins. Sarah gazed at the food adoringly and loaded up her plate.

“Ah, heaven.”

Logan watched her eat with a combination of admiration and humor, helping himself as well. Sarah seemed to have forgotten him altogether as she concentrated on the food, a slight flush coloring the fine skin of her cheekbones, a little bit of sauce from a wing clinging to her jaw. He reached over, swiping it away with his finger.

“I like a woman with healthy appetites.”

Heat sparked between them, and Logan didn’t know if it was the lateness of the hour, or the beer, or both. He didn’t care. Sarah was gorgeous, even stuffing her face with wings. He smiled when she sat back, sated.

“So, we can’t talk about work, but we can talk about other stuff. Get to know each other a little better.”

“Like what?” She frowned, wondering what he wanted to know, though in all honesty she was curious about him, too.

“Well…” He grinned in the direction of the band, definitely of the country-rock variety. “You apparently don’t like country music. What kind do you like?”

This was a safe enough topic. “I visit a lot of jazz clubs and alternative music spots in the city. Some punk, techno—that kind of thing. It’s where a lot of my friends hang out.” She decided to keep things in the present tense—she’d told him before she was from Brooklyn, and there wasn’t any reason to complicate things now. And she couldn’t explain her move without explaining her job. Depending on what was happening here, maybe it was best he believed she lived back up north.

“They’re musicians?”

“Some.”

“Techno, huh? Do you ever rave?” he asked with a smile and she smiled back.

“I’ve been once or twice. It’s a little too crazy for me, and I prefer to keep my mind and body clean. Drugs aren’t a requirement, of course, but they’re pretty prevalent in the clubs. Not my scene, really.”

“Me, either. But it sounds like an exciting life.”

“Not especially.” She smiled, thinking of the movie portrayals of hackers, all dressed in black with slick haircuts and shiny earrings, attending raves every night and talking the talk.

Some of that was true—there was a distinct “look” among her old set of friends—but the lifestyle wasn’t really all that glamorous or exciting. Sitting in front of a computer for hours—or days—on end wasn’t the stuff excitement was made of. Not unless you were into it.

“It’s just a life.” She took a swig of beer, looking at him over the top of the bottle. “So what about you?”

He shrugged. “I like most music, nothing in particular though. I go to outdoor concerts back home, but I have never really been to clubs or anything like that.” Except on raids, he thought quietly with a smile.

“Do you dance?”

“Sure, is that a hint?” His eyes sparkled and she almost retracted her question, but decided to let it stand. Why not?

“Well, this music is better than I thought—not the old ‘my-truck-broke-down-and-my-girlfriend-left-me-for-my-best-friend’ kind of thing. It has a beat.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.