Long, tan legs moved across my field of vision. Bright yellow board shorts came to the knee and a bold blue stripe circled the waistband. Above, rose a sculptured torso, Apollo's belt artfully delineated. The shorts rode low on his hips and powerful thighs bunched and stretched as he leaped to hit the ball. His calves bulged as he landed. Scattered with thick, black hair, they narrowed into firm ankles, ending with the sexiest man feet I've ever seen. Not that I have a foot fetish, just—wow. How can a guy have sexy feet?
"Huuuhh!" I groaned as the volley ball slammed into my lap. Belly red, skin stinging, I took stock. Nothing broken or damaged, except my pride, which had taken worse than this before, and survived.
Mr. Sexy Feet ran over, kneeling by my deck chair. "Are you okay?" His voice was sexy, too, like melted dark chocolate. Black hair that came to just below his ears, square jaw, and the deepest brown eyes I've ever seen, met my hungry gaze. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," I managed to gasp. "Yes. Fine. Stings a little."
"I'm so sorry. I lost the spike in the sun." He took up the ball, hissing as his eyes caught my reddened skin. "I can damn near read Nike on you—backwards."
His eyes took me in, from my sun bleached, tangle of hair to my rave red toenails. Did those big brown eyes linger over long on my scantily clad chest? One hesitates to speculate. He held out one broad palmed hand and smiled flashed a white toothed grin.
"J. Penn Spalding."
"What does the J stand for?" I squinted against the sun, not yet taking his hand.
He dug his toes into the sand. "By random chance, you lit on the one question I don't want to answer."
"Because, if I tell you, I'll kill any chance I have with you."
"How do you know you have a chance after smacking me with the volley ball, Mr. Spalding?"
"Cause you're still talking to me."
I tilted my head to the left, giving him a good, lingering once over. If he can look, I can look. "Benni Carstairs," I replied, taking his hand.
"What's Benni short for?"
"What's the J stand for?"
"I'll tell you over dinner."
"You're very sure of yourself, Mr. Spalding."
"Okay. Are you a local?"
"Then I pick the place."
"I'll meet you at the Blue Oyster Pub on the beach strip. Can you find it?"
"That's what GPS is for. Of course, it would be easier if you were in the car with me."
"It would, but you have to earn that."
"Fair enough. Tonight at seven o'clock?"
He was still holding my hand. Instead of shaking it again, he brushed his lips across it. He had very soft, full lips.
"Sorry again about the ball."
I grinned at him. "You did it on purpose."
He tried to look wide eyed and innocent, failing completely. "What? No. Never."
"Keep telling yourself that, J. Penn Spalding."
He tossed the ball in the air, walking backwards until he almost fell. I watched him go back to his mixed doubles game.
"She's okay," he called. The ball went over the net, landing in a woman's hands.
© 2016 Dellani Oakes