“Why not? No one’s driving tonight. We can be sloppy.”
He smirks. “Two beers get you sloppy?” He rises and crosses no man’s land, finding me on the opposite side of the hot tub. He holds out one bottle. I take it, but this time he stays on my side. I don’t blame him. We’ve basically been shouting at each other across the tub for the past twenty minutes. It’s hard to make conversation over the loud rumble of the jets.
“Nope, but three might,” I say before taking a swig of the fresh beer. Mmm. It’s crisp. I took too long to finish my last bottle and did not appreciate the bitter, flat end, warmed by the steam of the tub.
“Cheers to sloppy then.” Finn points over my shoulder to Dex’s house. “Your commute home seems manageable.” He shoots me a little wink and I purposely ignore the flutter in my chest.
Finn is easily the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in person. I’m thoroughly convinced he accidentally wandered out of some woman’s fantasy and got stuck here in reality. He’s even fitter than I realized this morning. Runners are usually lean. The way he had his legs secured with athletic tape, I assumed he’s a serious runner, but up close it’s clear that his exercise routine includes far more than cardio.
His entire left arm is tatted as well. I’ve seen a lot of tribal sleeves but never something like this. I can’t make out all the pictures with his arm bobbing in and out of the water, but the image starting on his broad, muscular shoulder is a ghost pirate ship. The sails are tattered, and there’s half a skull on one of the main sails. The intricate designs show off some seriously impressive artistic ability. I’ve never seen a tattoo like this, which should be slapped on a canvas and hung in a museum.
It really adds to Finn’s already peak-level attractiveness.
Which actually makes it much easier to talk to him.
I am not one bit nervous about sharing a beer and a conversation with the Adonis next to me in the bubbling hot tub. The reason is simple. He’s so damn hot that I’ve friend-zoned the shit out of him. He’s in the no-touch zone, locked in a box, key flung into the ocean, because there is no way on God’s green earth that I can handle an unrequited crush situation right now. He’s so far out of my league, it hurts. But he’s also funny and smiley, and our conversation is a welcome distraction from the fact that I’ll be spending the night alone.
The first night by myself. I left my home and moved immediately onto Palmer’s couch. This will be the first night I’m truly by myself and have to face the music that this is my new reality. Alone.
“So what exactly does a brand strategist do?” Finn asks as his baby blue eyes lock on mine. Obviously, he has pretty eyes and dark lashes that accentuate them. Because all Grecian gods have sexy eyes that can stun you into oblivion.
I take a quick swig of my beer. “The simplest way to explain it is I evaluate brands and provide them with guidance on how to adjust their marketing to monetize and scale.”
He blinks at me. “That’s the vaguest response I think I’ve ever heard.”
I laugh. “Okay, how about this? I help brands come up with a game plan to be visible and competitive. So I do a lot of industry research and help companies plan their branding image. I consult on everything from logos and print material to blueprints for product packaging if they sell tangible products. I do web design and help develop a pricing strategy.” I raise my brows at Finn. “I could continue…”
He squints one eye at me. “All that stuff is necessary for a business to bring in money?”
I cinch my eyes closed and nod. “Definitely. Eighty percent of being profitable is being visible. Yes, having a good product or service is important, but it really doesn’t matter unless customers know you exist. Most businesses fail not because they aren’t competitive. It’s just because people don’t know about them.”
Finn points at me. “That’s exactly what I’m dealing with right now.” He takes another long swig of his beer before setting it on the deck behind him. “I’m having the hardest time finding clients.”
“What do you work in?”
He hesitates for a brief moment, then says with confidence, “Photography.”
“Ah, that’s a tricky one. Unless you have a niche, the market is saturated. Not to mention there are really no barriers to entry. Anyone can be a photographer, and the prestige of names like Ansel Adams is a thing of the past. Not to mention, video content is superior these days.”
He blinks at me in surprise.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be discouraging. I just meant you’re probably a great photographer, but it’s a hard business to sustain.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” He braces against the deck and hoists himself out of the tub. Sitting on the edge of the deck, his legs dangle two inches from my shoulder. “I’m hot. Are you hot? I need a break.”
I shrug as I turn my head. “I’m not too—” I choke on my spit when I realize I’m at eye level with his crotch. His trunks are soaked and are melded to the outline of his dick, which is in-your-face massive.
“Whoa, you okay?” He pats my shoulder, likely because he’s unable to reach my back pressed against the hot tub wall.
“Beer…wrong pipe…” I manage to say through sputtering, but I notice his eyes dart from me to the beer resting on the deck behind me, which I haven’t touched in at least a minute.
“What?”
“Okay, fine,” I mumble, then clear my throat one more time. “You’re…” I twist my wrist. “You know…kind of on display.”
His eyes fall to his lap. “Oh, sorry.” Finn immediately unties his trunks as he spreads his legs into a wide V. He slips his hand underneath his waistband, grabs his dick, and tucks it out of sight. How that’s possible, I don’t know. His penis could probably be spotted from outer space. I’d like to say I have more self-control, but no, I watched the entire fiasco with my mouth wide open. “Better?” he asks, completely unashamed.
“Mhmm,” I mumble. I grab my beer and chug just to have something to do.
“I guess we’re even now,” he says with a chuckle.
“Excuse me?”
Finn shrugs nonchalantly like we’re talking about what we had for lunch. “I saw your tits earlier.”
I gawk. Caught off guard, I do the most childish thing I can think of and throw a handful of water at his face. “You said you couldn’t see anything.”
Laughing, he holds up his hands in surrender as I cup my hand to prepare another water grenade. “I couldn’t in the hot tub, but you dropped your towel when you got into the living room. You must’ve forgotten about the windows in there.” He points to the left side of the deck where Dex’s living room is in clear sight through enormous clear glass panes. So clear in fact, I can see that Cherry has finally finished swimming around in a frenzy and is nowhere in sight.
Fuck me. I dropped my towel right in front of the damn fish tank. Of course he saw everything.
I was in such a hurry to get dressed, I threw on my bra, tank top, and underwear where I’d left them earlier on Dex’s navy sectional. When I decided to hot tub naked this evening, it wasn’t because I was trying to be sensual. It was because I didn’t bring a swimsuit. Because I don’t like getting into swimsuits. I hate the beach. I don’t like being photographed half naked unlike the millions of other Californians who go to the beach for selfie photo shoots. How nice it must be to have a body you don’t mind documented.