Nikki squealed like a pig, and started hopping around like a cracked-out rabbit. She was acting more like our friend Zoey than herself, but it was too funny to ruin my fun by laughing at her and making her self-conscious. I made a note in my brain to do things like this in order to get the same reaction out of her more often.

She spotted the tall, blonde mop of curly hair coming down the walkway first. The man was easily six four, if not taller, and built like a linebacker. Personally, I was more of a fan of soccer players' bodies, with their lean muscles, but who the hell gave a crap when hotness incarnate was right there. He was wearing a t-shirt that was a size too small, accentuating the broad, thick muscles of his chest, arms, and back. What surprised me was the big, goofy smile on his face while he made his way up to the booth.

"I'm gonna go over there, okay?" I told Nikki, but by the glazed-over look in her eye, I knew I could tell her I was born a hermaphrodite and she wouldn't bat an eyelash. I stepped out of line, and went to stand closer to the empty booth on the opposite side. The girls in line were going insane. Who knew Calum Burro was the heartthrob of older, horny women?

He sat down, started signing autographs, and talked to his fans, all with a big smile plastered on his dimpled face. Nicole's eyes were frozen to his body. I laughed at the intensity of her glare. I was leaning my butt against the empty table behind me, my ankle crossed over my other foot, when I felt that familiar creep of fabric going up my ass. My eyes were still so glued to the pure happiness radiating from my best friend that I didn't even feel my traitorous hand reaching behind me to pull out my wedgie until it was too late.

"Digging for gold?" the person I didn't see standing next to me, asked.

In a perfect world, I would have turned around and come face to face with a snot-nosed, middle-aged man in desperate need of Proactiv. Oh, how I wished then that my life was based in a perfect world, so my embarrassment would have been apparent, but ultimately, who cared? My ideal Peeping Tom would have been notorious for digging for gold in his nose and ass. I could live with that.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a perfect world. In the real world, I peed on myself sometimes when I sneezed and got tickled, I usually farted when I first woke up, and I'd also heard my dad and mom doing the dirty tango in third grade. I swung my head around to look at the witness to my wedgie pulling, when I came face to chest with a very tall guy. I had to look up, and then farther up, up, and up to find the prettiest emerald eyes I'd ever seen looking right at me. They were so bright, they reminded me of the Bright Light toy I had as a kid that lit up the colored pegs magically. Those eyes were set into the most perfectly created face of all time, all high cheekbones, chiseled jaw, and full, pink lips.

Those pouty lips morphed into an amused smirk. "Did you find a golden nugget?" the rich, velvet voice asked me.

"Uh..." My fingers were still pinching the material of my godforsaken yoga panties out of my butt crack, and my face felt like there was a wildfire going on beneath my cheeks. And cue the word vomit. "I wish."

Oh my God. What was wrong with me? The words slipped out of my mouth at the same time that I finished pulling out my wedgie, because I had already gotten caught, so why stop? I was firmly aware that a normal person would have denied picking at their underwear, but there I was going along with it.

The guy laughed, a deep, throaty sound that should be illegal in fifty states, and his eyes sparkled from underneath the rim of a worn-in, green baseball cap that hid his hair. His face was really way too pretty, so it was weird how disarming his smile made me feel. He eyed my flaming blush, and then gave me a convincingly bashful smile. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me," he apologized. "I tend to say stupid shit all the time."