Page 28 of You're The One
“Whatever.” She slings an arm over her eyes. “So, you’re actually looking to settle down?”
“I wouldn’t be here, possibly getting engaged in eight weeks’ time, if I wasn’t serious.”
“Then why all the dates this summer? I can’t imagine it was all the same girl.” Despite the probing, she doesn’t seem all that invested in the answer, still casually lying with her face covered on her board.
“Not the same girl. If it were, I wouldn’t be here. And all the dates because… isn’t that what people do when they’re looking for a relationship?”
“I guess.” She accepts the answer easier than I expect. Why does it bother me that she doesn’t seem to care at all?
“So, what’s your type?” she continues, pressing on with her line of questioning.
“I don’t really have one.”
“Everyone has a type,” she volleys back.
“Then what’s yours?”
“Someone with depth.” If the sun weren’t in her eyes, I’d bet anything she’d be raising one eyebrow at me. “Someone who enjoys music. And likes to travel.”
I nod.
“Your turn.”
I realize I’ve never really given this much thought, which is ironic, considering how much I want it. I guess I always figured the perfect woman would just land in my lap. The wholewhen you know, you knowthing.
But what do I actually want in a partner?
“I guess… someone with their own goals and passions. Someone who also wants to settle down. Who likesme. The real me, not just the version they’ve built in their head.”
“Okay. What about looks-wise? Blonde? Brunette? Tits or ass?”
Did Logan’s baby sister just ask me if I’m a tits or ass guy? What alternate universe did I just paddleboard into?
“All of the above,” I mutter, because describing my ideal woman to Mia feels weird. For a lot of reasons.
Like the fact that I’m currently trying not to stare at her.
Or that she’s lounging next to me in what barely qualifies as a swimsuit.
Or that I’m supposed to be protecting her. Not picturing what she’d look likewithoutthe scraps of fabric.
Luckily, she can’t read my thoughts and moves on to the next question, none the wiser.
She props herself up on one elbow, gaze fixed on the water. “Deal-breakers?”
“Did you prepare these questions ahead of time?”
“So what if I did?”
“I’m just surprised you’re taking this seriously.”
As my board starts to drift away from hers, I paddle gently to keep us—our boards—close.
“Call it curiosity. Plus, what else am I supposed to do to entertain myself?” she adds.
“You can’t already be bored. It’s been less than twenty-four hours.”
Logan’s always going on about her short attention span and inability to commit, but this feels extreme. Even for her.
