My knees and hands were stinging like someone had just scrubbed them raw with sandpaper, but I ignored them. Just as I was about to hoist myself up, an arm extended my way.
“You okay?”
I dusted off my knees and palms. “Yeah, I’m okay,” I replied before glancing up, which was a good thing since once I looked at him, my tongue tied into those knot thingies I’d heard about.
Hello . . .
Instructor Paddle Stroke was towering in front of me, holding out his hand like he was waiting for me to take it. Under normal circumstances, I would have let him give me a lift up, but this wasn’t a normal circumstance because this guy wasn’t, well . . . normal. In a good way.
That sounded bad, but I didn’t know how else to describe him. I couldn’t look away, but it wasn’t because he fit the hot-guy mold with, you know, the hair and the smile and the jaw thing. He was the other type. The one with enough quirks to make him interesting to look at— the kind with just enough imperfections to make him attractive.
His hair was messy in the unstyled way, and while he had clear skin, his face was marked with two largish scars—a smooth one traced across part of his upper lip and a rougher one running down his temple. From the small bump at the top of his nose, it looked like he’d broken it—at least once.
So he’d broken some bones and earned some scars—good for him. I had my own—they just weren’t so obvious.
I couldn’t tell if his eyes were more brown or green, kind of like his hair couldn’t decide if it was more blond or brown. Even his body seemed to be in some kind of tug-of-war between bulky and lanky.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” The skin between his brows creased when I stayed frozen, still staring at him like the idiot I was.
Get a grip, Phoenix. This isn’t exactly the first guy you’ve ever pasted your eyes on.
I had to force myself to look away before I could reply. “I’m sure I’m not not okay.”
“Well, that’s a start.” I could hear the smile in his voice, which made me want to look. Yeah, his smile was just as great as it sounded. Kinda crooked, his eyes grinning, too. “You can work on the rest later.”
That made me smile back. Again, like the idiot I was.
I didn’t do boy-crazy, I reminded myself. I didn’t do weak-kneed and tongue-tied and starry-eyed. I did Miss Independent. I did my own thing. I did guys-were-a-nice-perk-but-not- the-pinnacle. That was my MO.
So why in the hell was I acting like my own personal guy-stupid nightmare, grinning like a moron at this guy? Especially when I was fresh out of a failed relationship?
“Are you busy?” he asked suddenly, glancing at the group on the lawn.
Yeah, I’m busy. Checking you out . . . and berating myself for doing it.
“No,” I said, forgetting all about what I’d been “busy” doing before my tumble heard around the camp.
“Would you mind helping me with something?”
“No,” I said, realizing one word too late I had no idea what I’d just agreed to.
“I’m going to need your help over there.” He tipped his head toward the lawn and campers. When he lowered his hand again, waiting, I shoved off the porch and lifted myself up. I could barely look at the guy—game over if I actually touched him.
He started heading for the lawn, checking over his shoulder to make sure I was following.
“What exactly do you need my help with?” I asked, trying not to check out the way his hips moved when he walked . . . or the way his butt looked in action.
I needed an intervention. A reality-check bitch-slap. I needed to stop noticing all that was so right about this guy, and latch on to whatever I could dig up that was wrong. I started repeating the phrase If it looks too good to be true, it probably is through my head.
“I’m going to use you to show everyone how to fit a life jacket.” He held a giant orange life jacket in the air, waving me forward with his other hand.
Too good to be true. Too good to be true, I hummed to myself as I walked up to him.
The cluster of campers gave a courtesy round of applause for the victim-slash-volunteer. He joined in and clapped with them.
I gave a little curtsy and reminded myself I’d made a vow to keep this summer complication-and boy-free. I had enough to deal with already.
He didn’t hesitate as he slipped behind me and stuffed my arms through the life jacket’s armholes. “To kill time, let’s play a Camp Kismet favorite, the Getting to Know You game.”
I swallowed. I would have rather walked on hot coals. With my face.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep it painless.” His head poked out from behind me like he’d known I’d be panicking over the idea of exposing my soul to a bunch of strangers.