Misunderstandings (Woodfalls Girls 2)

I silently berated myself for jumping. “Excuse me?” I asked, taking in his rugged appearance. He had nice eyes, I’d give him that, but the typical bad-boy getup made any interest I might have had go down several notches. It seemed like he was trying too hard to portray his image. Even the drenched white T-shirt that showed his six-pack abs and a well-defined chest covered in tattoos was a complete turnoff. I wondered what he would have done had it not been raining. Suddenly, I found myself laughing at a mental picture of him using a garden hose to soak himself down.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, seeing that I was trying not to laugh. Without waiting for my answer, he pulled out an empty chair. The heavy metal squawked loudly across the concrete as he scooted himself toward the table.

“Why don’t you sit down,” I said sarcastically. “And get rid of the cigarette,” I added, not caring that I didn’t even know him.

His lips quirked at my testy tone before looking down at the cigarette. I expected him to scoff at my demand or even ignore it, but he surprised me by using the sole of his shoe to put it out. He earned a few more brownie points by placing the butt in his pocket versus throwing it on the ground.

“Won’t your ‘girlfriends’ wither away into a pile of simpering drama now that you’ve left them?” I asked, casting a look over my shoulder, where the two blond bombshells were staring daggers into my back.

“Nah, they’re cool,” he said, flashing them a smile, which must have been laced with some kind of potion considering the way they both smiled back at him with such adoration. I was disgusted. He was nothing but a flirt who treated women with little respect.

“I think I’m going to hurl,” I commented, making him turn his attention back to me.

He laughed. “You’re hard-core. So, I’m getting the sense you don’t like me. Is it because I interrupted your studying, or have we maybe hooked up before? Because I definitely think I would have remembered that.”

“Please, I shudder at the thought. Does that crap actually work?” I sniped. The fact that he was callous enough to find nothing wrong with flirting with me while he was on some weird ménage-a-trois date was irritating as hell.

My comment only spurred more laughter from him. “I think you just broke my heart,” he said, clutching his chest.

“I’m sure your Playboy bunnies will be more than willing to repair it.”

“How about you make it up to me by going out with me?”

This time it was my turn to laugh. “Um, no thank you.”

“Why not?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

“Because I don’t like you,” I answered, stating the obvious.

“How do you know? You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe not directly, but I know your type.”

“My type?” he asked, ignoring the calls he was getting from the girls at the other table.

“Okay, let’s forget for a moment how you’re over here flirting with me while your fan club over there is cooling their heels waiting for you. I’m a little puzzled what they see in you, but the fact that they’re dumb enough to actually share you makes me believe you must be an out-of-work musician or something like that. Guitar player, right?”

He threw his head back, laughing loudly at my analysis. “Wrong on both. I couldn’t play an instrument to save my life. Not to mention, I’m pretty much tone-deaf. As for your first assumption, neither of them is my girlfriend. I met them at a party last night and agreed to meet up for coffee today. But enough about them. I’m curious to know why you came up with these assumptions?” he asked, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest while he casually crossed his ankles.

“Hmm, could it be the Barbie twins you’re stringing along? You may not think you’re dating them, but they sure think something is going on,” I said, deliberately cutting my eyes in their direction. “Or, it could be all the ink. Is it a fetish, or are you just blatantly seeking attention? Your whole persona screams misunderstood tortured soul. I’m guessing your parents ignored you and this is a vain attempt to get their attention,” I added with complete disinterest. A hint of what almost looked like disappointment flashed in his eyes but was gone in a second, convincing me I was imagining things.

“Are you one of those fortune-tellers?” he drawled. “Hey, what number am I thinking of? Kidding. What about you? Gotta be a psych major, right?” he asked, raising his pierced eyebrow, which I failed miserably at ignoring.

“Education,” I answered, holding up my Teaching in Diverse Populations book.

“And you moonlight as some kind of psychoanalyzer? Watching and judging everyone?” he asked.

I bristled at his description. I wasn’t some busybody who clucked her tongue judgmentally anytime someone did something I disagreed with. That was my mom’s thing. Not mine. Okay, so I liked to watch people, but that was different. It’s not like I ever said anything negative, at least out loud. God, was he right? Did occasionally thinking snarky thoughts while nosing into people’s business make me no different than my mom? It had to be different. Besides, who didn’t do that? Was there a sane person who could actually walk through Walmart without judging someone? I pondered these questions as Mr. Wet T-Shirt continued to eye me.

“I’m just observant,” I finally answered lamely. “So, if you’re not some misunderstood musician, what are you?”

“Like, what species? Well, when I was younger I pretty much assumed I was a monkey, but as I got a little older I was convinced either my parents were from another planet or I was. Recently, it’s come to my attention that I might also be part ass,” he answered cheekily.

“Funny,” I answered, sitting back in my chair.

“I’ll have to tell you what I am the next time I see you,” he answered, standing up as his blond companions called his name again in unison. “By the way, I’m Justin,” he said, holding out his hand.

I held out my own hand, reluctantly. “It’s been interesting.”