Max looked both amused and intrigued. “Diamond hunting? Gold mining?”
She glanced across at the girls, who were still doing a piss-poor job of trying to mind their own business. “Nope. Adopting a baby. A little boy.”
He tapped his hands together in silent applause. “Kudos to them. You must really be good friends to take on such a task.”
“Jacyn and I go back a long way. We’ve been friends forever. I remember the summer after we turned eighteen, I broke my leg skateboarding, and she sacrificed her entire summer to be my nurse and keep me company. She’s the best friend anyone could have.”
“She sounds like a saint. I don’t know many eighteen-year-olds who would give up summer to spend it with their friend. And she’s adopting a baby? Very admirable.”
“They’ll be gone for two months.” She added this last with a hint of significance, sending him a signal she hoped he’d pick up. I’m only here a short while, so if you’re gonna get, my friend, get while the going’s good.
Pick up her signal, he did. His next question was crystal clear in its intention, “Are you single, Sienna?”
“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here,” she responded without waffling.
His dark wing of a brow lifted. “Hard to believe that someone hasn’t claimed you,” he said softly.
“The sub-species of hominid I was claimed by impregnated another female of his herd.”
“Ouch.”
Her face became rueful. “Did that sound bitter? It didn’t, did it?”
“Nope.” He shook his head, smiling at her.
Taking another sip of her Belgian beer, she said, “Good. Because I’m way too classy to do bitter.”
His eyes roamed the length of her delectable body. Enhanced by chunky gold and topaz jewelry was a simple white shift dress. “I’d say that ‘classy’ would be an understatement for you.”
She lobbed his question right back at him. “You single? Because, let me tell you—”
“Very single,” he advised, “Although, unfortunately, I don’t have a story half as colorful as yours.”
In her mind, she checked the box marked ‘single’. “Okay. Question two—”
“I feel like I’m being interviewed.”
“You are. Now, hush.” She squinted at him. “How old are you? You lookyoungish. Can I safely assume you lived through the turn of the new millennium?”
He grinned at her. “I clearly remember the fireworks.”
“So, you’re...?”
“I’m twenty-six. How old are you?”
She feigned shock. “Did your mama never tell you not to ask a woman her age?”
“You started it,” he reminded her.
“It’s different,” she claimed unconvincingly.
He folded his arms, looking smug, knowing that her logic wouldn’t hold up. “Different, how?”
“Ugh. Fine. I’m five years older, okay?” She was aware that she made it sound as if she was old enough to have potty-trained him, and rolled her eyes.
“Older women,” he huffed with a lecherous grin.
“Not that much older!” she clapped back.