Balance (Off Balance 1)

“No, we live on a golf course. My dad is a big golfer.”

“Wow,” he w

as speechless.

“It’s actually really beautiful and originally belonged to the Post cereal heiress. It’s a Mediterranean style home with the original floors and same architecture from when it was first built. Nothing was touched. So for my dad, buying it was a no brainer. He appreciates that kind of stuff. My mom wanted to rip the floors up and redo everything, but he put a firm stop to that.” Unexpectedly, a shot of homesickness hit me and I frowned.

“The beach isn’t far, which was where I spent most of my free time. Nothing compares to a Florida beach, you know? The pale sand, crystal clear water, endless rays of sun, it’s really beautiful.”

“Well, it’s settled then.”

“What’s settled?”

“That I’m coming home with you over Thanksgiving break. You’re going to take me to a beach and then over to Mar-A-Lago.”

I couldn’t stop the loud laugh that erupted from my throat. It felt good to relax and let go, and surprisingly I could with Hayden.

“You do realize you have the ocean over here, right? You can go any time you want?”

“I do, but after what you just told me, I want to see where you live.”

“Well you’re in for a surprise then. People are different over there.” I flipped my blinker on and turned into the parking lot. “I’m not like them, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged, unsure of what to say. “First, you have to understand I’m not trying to flaunt my family’s money or anything. Okay? Because I don’t typically talk about it. It’s embarrassing how people do, honestly.

“People on the Island are snotty. Everyone has money, and lots of it. Like an obscene amount. It’s all about what kind of car you drive, which designer you’re wearing, where your money comes from and so forth. A who’s who pretty much. The air is full of wealth and The Islanders turn their noses up quickly and talk so much shit. Their children are even worse because they’re raised with that kind of mentality, so their egos are the size of a watermelon by the time they enter middle school. And don’t get me started on the socialites.”

Hayden grew silent while I looked for a parking spot and slowly tried to pull in.

“What?” I asked, glancing at him.

Brows cinched, he gave me a skeptical look. “Are you okay driving? You don’t look so sure of yourself right now?”

I laughed. “I’m still not used to driving a real life Tonka truck, so I tend to pull into the parking spot the way eighty year olds typically drive—barely able to see over the steering wheel and slower than a damn turtle.”

Hayden barked out a laugh and I continued.

“The elderly give me road rage. I mean, they have the most experience and yet they’re the worst drivers on the planet! And best of all, they just love to retire to Florida. Why couldn’t they go to some no name town in North Dakota or something? A place where people hardly ever think to go to vacation?”

I parked outside of Gino’s, and Hayden hopped out, making his way around as I locked my car and dropped the keys into my purse. “But you’re not like them even though you come from there,” he stated more than asked, continuing our conversation.

Stepping inside the pizzeria, I looked him straight in the eye and said with sincerity. “No, I’m not. And I hope I don’t come across like that either.”

Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he drew me to him and rested his chin on top of my head. “You don’t. Not yet at least.”

I elbowed him playfully in the ribs and pulled away.

“Ow! That hurt.” He grinned.

“Yeah, right. All that hard muscle and you’re hurt by a small girl like me?”

Hayden stood tall, shoulders back and his chest purposely puffed out. “True. All this hard muscle you like to stare at…” he drifted off and began lifting his shirt. I playfully slapped his hand down and the shirt fell.

“I know what’s under there, I see it every day. Nothing special in my opinion,” I said teasingly, turning away to hide my grin. I knew his golden stomach was flat and toned. And don’t get me started on his obliques and that tightness. Damn gymnast.

“Adrianna. Remember, I know what your lips taste like,” he said only for my ears.