Page 9 of Hula Girl

“I, um,” I start. “I was on my way into town, actually. But one of those crazy chickens ran me off the road, and I turned down here sort of by accident.”

He laughs, but it doesn’t feel like it’s at my expense. Not when his eyes are so warm, his expression so open. There’s something both boyish and world-weary about him. The combination doesn’t make sense, but it is incredibly compelling.

“Yeah, those chickens don’t exactly follow the rules of the road. But that’s a good thing for you, isn’t it?”

A red flag goes up with that last comment. It makes me think he’s about to give me some obnoxious come-on line about how that chicken running me off the road brought me to him and doesn’t that make me a lucky little lady?

“How’s that?” I ask, a challenge in my voice.

“If it weren’t for that crazy chicken, you may have just blown on by and never seen one of the most beautiful parts of Maui,” he says with a grin.

“Oh.” I feel foolish for presuming ill intent from him.

“This is Honolua Bay. If you go down that way a bit more, you can find a rad jungle trail to the water. But it’s pretty rocky and not that easy to get into the water. Once you do, though, if you swim out past the shallow, you’ll find a snorkeling paradise.”

“Is that what you’re doing here?”

“Nah. I’m here to hopefully catch some waves.” He glances over my shoulder at the water, and I can tell he’s anxious to be in it.

“Don’t let me stop you.”

His eyes drift back to mine. And then they slide downward, surveying me. Every inch of me.

The gauzy white slip dress I’d thrown over my ruby-red bikini falls short against my thighs. I’ve always thought that my legs, shaped by the quick, high-intensity runs I squeeze into my schedule whenever possible and accentuated by wedge sandals, are one of my best features. By the way this gorgeous stranger is eyeing me, he would seem to agree.

“Listen, uh, I’d invite you to join me in the water down there,” he says, tearing his eyes from me, “but it’s not the best place for a casual swim.”

“That’s okay. I’m sort of on a mission, anyway.”

“Right. You said you were headed to town?”

“Yeah. I’m desperate to buy a laptop. I need to check in on a case.”

“A case? That sounds like lawyer-speak. God, I hate lawyers,” he says absently and I cringe. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice, as his eyes have once more been drawn to the water below. “Uh, you’re not a lawyer, are you?”

“A lawyer? Me? No. Um, nope.” Why I felt the instinct to lie to him baffles me, but there it is.

“Oh, good.” He graces me with that crooked grin once more. “Well, Hula Girl, good luck with your mission.”

“Thanks.” That one word trails off prematurely as I watch him pull his T-shirt off, revealing a chest that makes my mouth water. It’s smooth, except for ridges of muscles. The exquisite definition I noticed earlier in his arms is matched on his torso and even down to his hips where his black and gray swim trunks are slung low enough to showcase a perfectV.

He turns to the bed of a Chevy pickup truck that has seen better days and pulls a surfboard from it.

I hesitate longer than I should before forcing one foot in front of the other toward my rental car.

“Oh, hey,” he calls out.

I whip around to face him once more.

“There’s a little place, a locals’ place for food and drinks, called Makai’s. I’ll be there tonight after eight. Why don’t you stop by? That is if the chickens don’t run you off the road.”

His smile is a tease. A flirt. An invitation.

It makes me melt like a teenager. I struggle not to show the effect he has on me.

Clearing my throat, I give him a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods before securing the surfboard under his arm and making his way barefoot down a barely defined red-dirt trail.

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