Standing a head taller with limbs that stretched for days, lean but solid, this stunner had wave-tussled sandy blond hair that tickled his neck and curled at his ears, and a day-old beard you knew was rough on soft skin. He wore a loose Hurley tee that looked wrinkled from being kept in a backseat, tattered board shorts and sandals, didn’t look like he cared in the least what you thought about it, and had a cigarette tucked behind his ear.

His eyes were a penetrating shade of blue, deeper in tone than his friend’s and definitely not smiling.

And that penetrating shade turned even more intensely sexual when he slid them to my knockout of a best friend and moved his gaze from tits to toes.

“Whoa,” I mumbled, shifting my weight and giving life to my legs again.

My limbs tingled.

I knew fifteen minutes into my shift this morning exactly why Tori worked here, the screaming hot locals, and why she had that mischievous shift in her eyes when she suggested I would love it here, again, the screaming hot locals, but now I was seeing the full effect of committing to waiting tables the rest of your life when you didn’t even need a job in the first place.

Exhibit A, and his cousin with a dirty little secret, Exhibit B. B for bad-boy.

“This is so awesome,” Shay whispered excitedly, rounding the bar and stepping beside us. “I love it when he stops in here. And he’s in your section, T. As usual.”

I took notice of the booth they had chosen, which was most definitely in Tori’s section, and which also happened to be in my section since I was training and paired up with Tori, and as I was taking notice of my section and the surrounding sections, my eyes took notice of something else.

These two sun-kissed surfer boys had drawn the attention of everyone in the restaurant.

At least everyone with a vagina anyway.

Tori sighed, grabbed my hand, and tugged me behind her, whispering obscenities under her breath and the slapping of our sneakers against the tile.

Exhibit A had his head down and was skimming the menu.

Exhibit B was relaxed, leaned back with an arm slung along the back of the booth, his cutting, captivating blues glued to my best friend’s every movement.

“What up, Legs?” he greeted her as we stopped at the hot boys’ booth.

I glanced at Tori, or Legs, as Exhibit B had so eagerly addressed her, then back at him, swaying a little at the sight of dimples and perfect teeth.

Oh, my.

Tori, ignoring the nickname and the man who delivered it, released my hand and reached into the pocket of her apron, flipped to a new ticket, and clicked her pen open.

“Welcome to Whitecaps. My name is Tori.” She paused, cutting a face-melting glare at B. “Not Legs, jackass.”

He raised his brows, smiling with the devil’s mouth while she continued.

“And I’ll unfortunately be your waitress today along with my best girl Sydney, who is training, so try to keep the assholery to a minimum if that’s even possible for you, which I realize might be a long shot and not something in your control but it never hurts to ask. We don’t want to scare her off.”

She bumped my hip and smirked at me.

I waved at B, and at A when he looked up, getting a smile and a wink from the former.

“Our special today is fish and chips with coleslaw, and our soup of the day is cream of crab.” She looked up, pen poised to paper and profile death-stare crazy. “Now, can I get you both something to drink and possibly your tab?”

I nudged Tori’s elbow.

Was she crazy? Why would she want to send them away so soon? They were so pretty.

B laughed through closed lips and tilted his head. Gritty hair fell into his eyes.

“You’re extra sweet for me today. Somethin’ happen between now and the last time I came in here to love on you?”

My jaw hit the floor.

Love on her?

LOVE?

What the hell was going on?

I watched, wide-eyed and clueless, as my best friend scoffed and tapped her pen.

“It’s amazing, really. Even without your irritating presence for the past two weeks, I’ve managed to grow in my soul-consuming disgust for you.”

“I see you’re counting our days apart,” B replied, reaching for her. “Let me take you out this weekend.”

Tori stepped back.

“I’ll be busy,” she replied, sounding bored.

“Doing what?”

“Washing my hair.”

B grinned. “You can do that at my place.”

“I’d rather staple my face to the wall,” she bit out with lips curling against teeth. She stuck her free hand on her hip. “Do you want a drink or not? I have other tables.”

We didn’t. Not at the moment anyway.

A glanced up, lifting his hand.

“I’ll have a Sprite, thanks. And we have one more coming.”

“Coke with grenadine for me, Legs. You know what I like.” B looked at me, then tipped his head at Tori, keeping my gaze. “She talk about me?”

“Uh …”

“Get a clue, Jamie,” Tori snapped, wrapping her hand around my elbow and tugging me in the direction we came, my feet shuffling backward quickly to keep up with her mile-long stems.

“What in the world was that all about?” I whispered when we reached the bar.

Shay spotted our return and slid off the back counter, where she’d been perched, legs swinging, speaking through the open rectangular window that separated us from Stitch, who didn’t seem to be conversing back with her, only listening with his head down and eyes focused, and came to stand beside me, leaning her elbows on the bar.

Tori stepped behind and grabbed two glasses, lifting her shoulders and trying to appear nonchalant as she filled each with ice.

“What?” she asked.

I leaned in, my hands flat on the cool wood.

“What? Why was that stunner calling you Legs, and why is he coming in to ‘love on you’? Did you hook up with him or something?”

Tori was the Rachel to my Monica. I didn’t think she kept secrets from me, not any, and especially not ones involving a hot cigarette-smoking surfer who looked like a former J.Crew model, fired for his bad-boy image and lewd habits.

Shay giggled beside me.

“I love that he calls you Legs. Nicknames are so sweet and sexy.”

I sucked in a breath, feeling warm and full and fuzzy all over. Wild.

Babe.

Tori sat the cup with Sprite down on the bar and grabbed the bottle of grenadine. Her eyes rolled.

“Tori,” I urged, needing answers and gossip more than my next breath.

“Okay, seriously, first of all,” she started, sounding impatient while pouring the red sticky syrup into the glass of Coke, “I did not hook up with that idiot. If I did, I would’ve told you, because I tell you everything. You’re my best girl.”

I smiled hearing that and stood a little taller.

“And second”—she stuck the bottle behind the bar again and frowned at Shay—“nicknames are only sweet and sexy when they aren’t stupid and uninspired, like, for example, naming a girl after a body part. He might as well just call me head or toenail.”

I kept on smiling, thinking about how inspiring Brian’s choice of nicknames were for me, and then thinking about how much I disagreed with Tori’s opinion, because I thought Legs was a pretty sweet and sexy nickname, and clearly inspiring.