Snippet of the Day-
“So you’re renting at Sunset Beach? That’s a nice area.” Scott’s eyes widened. Ella didn’t want to share too much with him. She thought she might be living where the locals considered being the upscale part of town. By the looks of her uncle’s house, she would agree.
Mr. Dog Trainer was her neighbor. Though appealing to her eye as well as her camera’s lens, he didn’t look as polished as their surroundings. Her position in regards to her address in this town was something she’d need to investigate further.
“It is a nice place. I like it,” Ella said, sipping her wine. The three glasses had already gone to her head. Her skin was flaming, flushing with heat. She wasn’t sure if it was Scott’s close proximity or the alcohol, which she didn’t indulge in often.
Scott cleaned up well. His face was shiny and smooth-looking, the results of a fresh shave. His jeans were faded but looked stiff, as if they’d been starched and pressed. A gray pullover contoured his chest, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Scott was average in height, but looked solid. Raised biceps pushed through the fabric of his shirt. His knees rubbed against hers as he swiveled on his stool. He’d reached into her personal space twice, twirling her hair in between his fingers.
“It is a nice place. I like it,” Ella said, sipping her wine. The three glasses had already gone to her head. Her skin was flaming, flushing with heat. She wasn’t sure if it was Scott’s close proximity or the alcohol, which she didn’t indulge in often.
Scott cleaned up well. His face was shiny and smooth-looking, the results of a fresh shave. His jeans were faded but looked stiff, as if they’d been starched and pressed. A gray pullover contoured his chest, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Scott was average in height, but looked solid. Raised biceps pushed through the fabric of his shirt. His knees rubbed against hers as he swiveled on his stool. He’d reached into her personal space twice, twirling her hair in between his fingers.
According to Scott, the Salt Rind was one of the popular local taverns. Small, round tables filled a tiny area in front of the bar. Black-and-white photos of Hollywood legends decorated the wall: Bette Davis, Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth, and Joe DiMaggio. A flat screen was muted, displaying the news broadcast that most would probably be better off not hearing.
Scott’s inquiry pushed through the dimmed lighting of the bar. “What nationality are you?” His eyes widened as his gaze slowly moved over her.
“Italian and Scandinavian,” Ella said, pushing her glass away. Her head felt light. She hadn’t eaten since lunch. Having three glasses of wine on an empty stomach was stupid.
“That explains it,” Scott whispered, his voice throaty. “I love the dark hair and fair skin.” His hand rested on her knee, skating slowly up her thigh. “You’re hot, very beautiful,” he confessed. Scott’s tone was heavy. It dripped with something Ella wasn’t sure she was ready to sample, though it’d been a long time since she’d experienced any physical gratification.
One of the bartenders at Johnny’s was a fringe benefit that Ella would indulge in once in a while, but aside from that, her body was usually battling a drought. “I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?” Scott asked, his finger tracing the inside seam of her jeans.
Ella caught her reflection in the mirror that hung above a shelf of liquor on the other side of the bar, the bottles artfully arranged. She had her reservations about Scott, but Ella couldn’t deny that his touch was scorching. She could feel it right through her clothes. He was heating her up as if tending to a fire, the flame stoking higher and higher.
“Ella?” Scott’s finger lightly stroked over her cheek. She spun on her stool, her surroundings unsteady for a moment.
“I’m sorry.” She smiled weakly.
“Come on.” Scott stood and dug through his pocket. He tossed a few bills on the bar, helping her off the stool.
Scott’s inquiry pushed through the dimmed lighting of the bar. “What nationality are you?” His eyes widened as his gaze slowly moved over her.
“Italian and Scandinavian,” Ella said, pushing her glass away. Her head felt light. She hadn’t eaten since lunch. Having three glasses of wine on an empty stomach was stupid.
“That explains it,” Scott whispered, his voice throaty. “I love the dark hair and fair skin.” His hand rested on her knee, skating slowly up her thigh. “You’re hot, very beautiful,” he confessed. Scott’s tone was heavy. It dripped with something Ella wasn’t sure she was ready to sample, though it’d been a long time since she’d experienced any physical gratification.
One of the bartenders at Johnny’s was a fringe benefit that Ella would indulge in once in a while, but aside from that, her body was usually battling a drought. “I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?” Scott asked, his finger tracing the inside seam of her jeans.
Ella caught her reflection in the mirror that hung above a shelf of liquor on the other side of the bar, the bottles artfully arranged. She had her reservations about Scott, but Ella couldn’t deny that his touch was scorching. She could feel it right through her clothes. He was heating her up as if tending to a fire, the flame stoking higher and higher.
“Ella?” Scott’s finger lightly stroked over her cheek. She spun on her stool, her surroundings unsteady for a moment.
“I’m sorry.” She smiled weakly.
“Come on.” Scott stood and dug through his pocket. He tossed a few bills on the bar, helping her off the stool.
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