Page 6 of Hiss and Make Up
Focus, Sierra.
But when she managed to settle on his eyes, her knees threatened to give out on her.
She knew those eyes. Those thick eyebrows and dark eyes had an intimate familiarity.
But those couldn’t be the same eyes. This guy was Marc. Those eyes belonged to someone else.
After propping her sunglasses on top of her head, Sierra held out her hand. “Sierra Menard. Are you the guy with the snake? Marc?”
He looked down at her hand, then back up at her face. The smile shifted from welcoming to sly. “Yep.”
“I’m sorry.” She dropped her hand. Those…eyes. “Do I know you?”
“You don’t remember me.”
“Should I?”
“Marc Dugas.”
Dugas. A cousin, maybe?
Then again, it was a ridiculously common name in this area. She examined the man in front of her. He wore a knit polo shirt over strong arms and loose-fitting jeans. She wished like hell she had a reason to remember this particular Dugas.
But no. She didn’t know a Marc. It was only this neighborhood playing tricks on her memory.
She shook her head.
“Oh, sorry.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, wagging his dark hair. “Scott.ScottDugas. You used to live at the end of this street with your dad, right?”
She braced herself with her fingertips against the hood of her Forerunner. “Scott…right. I thought you looked familiar.”
In truth, only the eyes gave him away.
She looked him up and down again.Holy cow. Not that awkward boy from down the road anymore. He haddefinitelygrown up.
What surprised her most, though, was that she hadn’t recognized his smile. Especially since that mouth had been the last thing she’d seen before leaving this neighborhood forever. Or what they’d both thought was forever. Until he’d gone and made it forever.
He cleared his throat. “You look great, by the way.”
“Thanks.” She grinned and nodded at his head. “You still need a haircut.”
He ran his hand through his hair, and the edges curled around his fingers. “Some things never change, right?”
“What’s with the new name? You in some kind of coon-ass witness protection program?”
He laughed. “Marc’s my middle name.”
Sierra recalled the shrill screech of Mrs. Dugas’ voice cutting across the fields every time they got in trouble. “Right. I forgot.”
“I started using my middle name when I got into radio. Cuts down on the crazies tracking me down.”
“Radio?”
“Talk radio. Local sports show.”
“Ah.” She paused. “You live here? Next door to your parents?”
It was better than his parents’ attic, on the creepy scale, but still a major red flag. No girl wants to move in next to her in-laws.
