Nope. That was not romantic. At least not to her. “I don’t play pool.”
“Excellent!” Once again, her total lack of enthusiasm didn’t faze him at all. “I can teach you.”
“No.” She bared her teeth in a vicious smile. “I mean I don’t...play...pool. Like, ever.”
“Oh.” He blew out a quick breath, glanced back and forth between her and Zac a few times, rocking on his heels. “Awkward!”
Zac decided this was a good time to crouch and pack up his bag. He was undoubtedly right.
Chris closed her eyes. Okay. She needed to behave better. Her current mood was not all Gus’s fault. She’d agreed to “hang out” with him, that was all. They’d both come to this in good faith, just with radically different expectations.
“Pool’s not my thing, Gus. Why don’t we do something else? Have dinner, catch a movie or a concert...”
“Oh.” Gus’s brows drew down. “See, some of my friends are meeting us at this place to shoot pool. I told them we’d be there.”
“Ah.” Chris smiled sweetly, already out of renewed patience.
“Listen, you guys have fun. I gotta get going.” Zac nodded to Gus and gave Chris a smirk that made her want to slug him. His smirk turned into a full grin, which meant he could probably tell she wanted to slug him, which made her want to slug him even harder.
He turned and started off, broad shoulders swinging, long legs eating up the sand even with his slow stride. Chris suffered a quick and unwelcome pang of panic, as if her lifeline to civilization as she knew it was being slowly stretched until it frayed and severed.
She turned to Gus, unnerved and exhausted. “Maybe you should just drive me home and we can make plans another night.”
“Yeah. So.” Gus tapped his sports watch, grimacing apologetically. “That’s kind of the opposite direction. We’re going to be late already.”
Chris stood frozen, blinking at him. Okay. So far she’d been willing to admit that part of this disaster was her fault.
Not that part.
She glanced at Zac’s back. For God’s sake, now she’d have to ask him a favor. “Maybe Zac will take me home.”
“Listen, Chris.” Gus touched her arm, his fingers still chilled from the water. “I’m sorry. I messed this up. See, you kind of intimidate me, being classier and everything. I guess surfing and friends felt safer. But it was sort of a dumb idea for a date with someone like you. You’re not my usual type. But I think you’re amazing. I really do.”
Chris turned from preparing to launch herself into a sprint after Zac. Gus was standing with his head hanging down, that gorgeous body molded in the wet suit, the sun setting behind him. He looked like something out of a catalog.
Her frosty mood thawed. “Aw, Gus. It’s okay. Really. We just had different ideas about tonight.”
“So it’s okay if I call you again?” He lifted his head hopefully. “It might be awhile. I’ve got a surf competition down in Huntington Beach in a few days.”
“Sure.” She put her hand on his solid forearm and squeezed, then glanced anxiously after Zac again.
“Yo, Zac!” Gus’s voice nearly burst her eardrums. Way up the beach, Zac turned.
“Okay, you’re good.” Gus gave her a gentle shove. “We’ll talk soon.”
She sent one more smile into his Greek-god face and ran off to catch her ride from the irritating titan.
7
AMES AVOIDED NYESPRESSO on his way home from a meeting with a potential client restaurateur and chef. He was in a terrible mood, and not stopping in to get a cup of coffee made him even crankier. The meeting hadn’t gone as well as it should have. The restaurant owner had been stringing Ames along for weeks, and the chef was one of those massive egos Ames could usually work around, but today he wasn’t in the mood. Yes, he got that the chef’s reputation was on the line when a new place opened; yes, he got that some people dealt with anxiety by becoming giant buttheads. Zee world, she is not always going to be your escargot, monsieur. Get over it.
Bottom line, Ames sold excellent wine at reasonable prices from a house with decades of a spotless high-end reputation. The stuff should sell itself, and usually it did.