Invariably, whenever a guy starts a sentence with “I’ve been thinking...” the conversation takes a turn for the worse. Break-ups start with “thinking” and end with good-byes. Interrogations start with “thinking” and end with “you’re guilty.” I should have bolted when I had the chance.
He leaned back in his seat. “What tipped you off to the body in the water?”
I wrestled with an excuse, any excuse, but I became distracted, my eyes drifting to his lips, then his chin and his strong jawline. Each anatomical part was more handsome than the last. I settled on his Adam’s apple, a safe spot. There wasn’t anything sexy or distracting about an Adam’s apple unless it was part of a neck, which connected to well-defined shoulders and a bit of dark chest hair peeking out of an open-collared black polo shirt.
“Sea gulls,” I blurted out.
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