6. Meg: Seriously Ticked Off

Chapter six

Meg – Seriously Ticked Off

Who the heck does this guy think he is? And why won't he get out of my head now?

At first, I was caught up in how handsome his features were. Yes, I've seen good-looking men staying at the inn or surfing on the beach, but this guy is something else entirely. His attitude is atrocious for one thing, calling me a feisty little pixie like I'm some annoying creature he stumbled upon. I can think of a few stupid names for him easily.

But there's something else about him…

He has something elegant and sophisticated about him. I can't quite put my finger on it. His wavy blond hair is neatly cut and styled like an executive's would be but his attire of a gray hoodie over swim trunks screams gym rat.

Maybe there was something in his deep brown eyes that entranced me when I looked up at him. For a moment, he looked like the kind of gentleman photographed on the cover of magazines. Thinking about it now, I smile a little.

Then I remember he has delayed manners. Or maybe his elegant appearance disguises serious stupidity. Almost like a himbo—but himbos are polite.

I mean, who doesn't immediately help a lady up after they've crashed into her and she's lying flat on her butt? I'm fuming over the crash. It could have hurt Duke in the process and then what would I have told his owners?

That jerk came stomping around the corner like he owned the place and I was the one trespassing.

And who does he think he is, calling me tiny? I mean, yes, I'm barely five foot two but that doesn't mean I'm invisible. He should have helped me up and apologized.

Why the heck was he smiling too? I can't think of a single human being who smiles like they're enjoying themselves while someone else is barking at them the way I was.

Sometimes I wonder if good-looking people feel they can get away with things or brush responsibility off simply because they're good-looking. I'm sure some of them do. That guy sure seems to.

I just hope he isn't staying here for long.

As I walk with Duke along the beach, I start playing this guessing game in my head. It's something I've done since I started working here. Because employees aren't allowed to ask more than where a guest is coming from, it's fun to make up scenarios in my head about who they are and why they've come here. It's more fun when people stay by themselves. There's more mystery to them. It's rare but it happens.

As for Mr. No Manners, I feel like he must have come from some fancy city somewhere. He's probably a trust fund kid who thinks he can treat people however he wants because he's got Daddy's money to cover any consequences for the attitude he gives people.

Maybe he smiled while getting his head bitten off because he's never experienced it before. What a crazy idea. I can't imagine living in a world where you're never told ‘no' by anyone.

Oh, heck, he probably thought it was funny more than anything else! I start to feel more embarrassed than anything when I think of what our verbal exchange must have looked like, with me staring up at him with my hands on my hips. I probably looked like a cartoon character.

But what would bring a guy like that here? Seaside is so small and quaint. It doesn't really line up with a big city guy like that. Or maybe he's from the general area and thought he'd stop in? He could have lost a bet or something and has to stay here for a certain amount of time, as dumb as that sounds.

Ugh, who the heck knows? He can't be staying here for long . As long as I watch myself around corners and avoid everyone with a blond gentleman's cut, I think I'll be fine.

Thankfully, I don't see the rude guy around the place for the rest of the day. A huge reason for that is because Mondays are my busiest dog-walking days. I get to spend the entire day away from concierge responsibilities, wearing the clothes I want to wear, and hanging out with the best dogs anyone could find.

Seriously, humans don't deserve the sweet, unconditional love that dogs give.

I never run with any of them because I always worry about them getting away by accident. The exception is Rudy, a German Shepherd. His owner taught Rudy to stay with whoever has his lead in his hand. It doesn't even have to be attached! As long as you're holding it, he won't leave your side.

Halfway through our afternoon walk, I can see him getting restless like he wants to pick up the pace and have a run. When I see the beach is pretty empty near the shoreline, as a majority of people are out getting lunch, I decide to make an exception.

"Hey, Rudy," I say, watching his ears perk up. "Wanna… race ?"

He stops dead in his tracks before furiously chasing his tail—then stopping mid-stride, waiting for me to give the OK.

"You have to stay with me, remember?" I say, waving his leash in my hand. He barks in response and looks down the nearly empty stretch of beach.

I give a countdown and the second I take off in a jog, he takes off, bolting ahead of me at first, then slowing down until I catch up. I can tell he wants to sprint, to run as fast as he can, but there's no way I could keep up with him.

As I run as fast as my legs will go, Rudy is in stride next to me, barking every step of the way. We race until my lungs begin to burn and I have to slow down.

He runs circles around me as I slow to a stop, resting my hands on my knees until I can catch my breath. I think I'm good to go again, but one wobbly step brings me flat on my butt.

Rudy rushes over to me, furiously licking my face as if he's checking my vitals. This dog would jump into a pool to save his owner from drowning, for sure.

"I'm good, I promise," I insist, trying to push him off. "I just tripped, buddy," I giggle, when he goes for my ears. It's only when I give him ear scratches that he calms down and sits next to me, watching the waves again.

When I thought about having a guy to walk on the beach with, I didn't have this in mind. But still, he's got a cute face and adorable personality. And I never have to worry about his saying the wrong thing.

"See, who needs men when there are good boys like you?"