Page 12 of Hula Girl

I laugh. “Pretty much.”

“How old are you?”

The question throws me for a second. “Twenty-seven. And you?”

“Thirty.”

“Cheers to that,” I say, raising my glass.

She fights a smirk before knocking her glass against mine. We both take a sip and I watch as she slowly closes her eyes, savoring the rich, sweet agave of the tequila.

“Good, right?”

When she looks at me again, her eyes have lost the wariness she had when she first arrived. While she might not be completely relaxed, she’s definitely not wound as tight as she was this morning. Then she takes another sip and I know we’re heading in the right direction.

“So, you appreciate the simple things,” she starts, and I can hear a challenge in her voice.

I smile, up for whatever she might throw my way. “I do.”

“That includes surfing, poke, and tequila.”

“Exactly.”

“And flirting with tourists?”

I raise my eyebrows, not sure how to respond.

She laughs. “It’s okay if that’s your game. I’m not bothered. I figured as much when you invited me out here.”

“Figured what exactly?”

“That you’ve got a pretty good deal for yourself. I’m guessing it’s not too hard to hook up with your pick of women.”

“No use in arguing with you,” I tell her, mostly to get a rise. I’m not above the odd one-night stand with a pretty tourist I might meet at one of the bars in town. But I’ve never invited anyone here. This is my local place for hanging with my buddies or just on my own.

“Didn’t think so,” she says with a self-satisfied nod.

I squint, appraising her. She carries herself with sophistication and self-assurance. I can tell that she’s clever, that in her “real” life, she’s probably someone to be reckoned with. All of which is why I decide to turn the tables on her and make light of her accusation that I’m some kind of player on the prowl.

“How doIknowyoudidn’t go to Honolua Bay looking for a local surfer to flirt with?”

“What?” When she laughs, her dark eyes sparkle with amusement. It’s such a pretty sight.

“I’ve heard about you tourists. You know, the ladies who scope out us vulnerable islanders to keep you warm at night.”

Now she’s appraising me, her smile lingering. Then she picks up her glass and raises it up for a toast. “Cheers to that,” she says.

Damn, if I’m not lost in her for a second. I love the way she just acknowledged this attraction we’ve got going. She’s not going to bullshit me. She’s not going to play any games. I tap my glass to hers and when we each raise our glasses to our lips, we keep eye contact. I canfeelthe heat between us. I’ve never wanted to be this close to an open flame before.

“So, you’re on vacation here?” I ask.

She nods, playing it cool.

“I suppose you’ve done all the expected things? Luau and such?”

“Ah, no. I did a lot of the usual sightseeing, but that one just seems like a tourist trap,” she says dismissively.

“There are some good things about luaus.”

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