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Gross, but I’m glad he did it.
    I head to the kitchen and rifle through the fridge for my grandpa’s anti-hangover remedy. The trick is, you have to drink it the same night you get shit-faced for it to work completely. I have no clue what’s in it. It tastes like tomato juice that went rotten with a side of sour, but that and two aspirins and I’ll be golden for my date, so it’s down the fucking hatch.
    I collapse into my bed, and my dreams are populated by one very sexy dark-eyed, uptight girl who’s all about letting her wild side peek out just for me.
    When I finally wake up the next afternoon Cohen is gone, Grandpa is outside in his overgrown vegetable garden pulling weeds like a maniac, and I get ready to meet up with Whit. When I go out back to tell my grandpa I’ll be gone for the day, he snickers.
    “What’s so funny, old man?” I ask, dodging a dirt-clogged weed he tosses my way on purpose.
    “You look so pretty. Who are you all gussied up for? Not a floozy.” He wipes wet dirt on the sides of his work jeans and tips back his old straw cowboy hat, grinning like a fool.
    “Not a floozy,” I agree. “A nice, respectable girl I’m gonna try my best to corrupt.”
    He shakes his head and goes back to his peppers, his shoulders shaking with his bouts of laughter. “Wear a rubber.”
    “Will do. Don’t get sun poisoning. I don’t want to deal with your old ass peeling and crying for a month again.” I catch the pepper he throws at me and take a spicy bite.
    “Get lost, pain in my ass.” He pulls one of my birthday cigars out of his pocket and lights up, knowing the smell will send me running. Those cigars were definitely for pros, and a pro I am not when it comes to tobacco.
    I hop in my Jeep, and sail down the highway, driving too fast and whistling totally off key to the random sappy love song on the radio. I’m a shit whistler, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but seeing Whit. And then I pull in on the beach that I texted her directions to last night and see her.
    She’s sitting on the hood of her LeBaron, her knees pulled up to her chest, her dark hair blowing back from her face in the salty ocean wind. She doesn’t notice me at first, and I take a minute to watch her, lost in thought, looking small and huddled with the backdrop of the waves crashing loud around us. She must sense my eyes on her, because she looks up and smiles.
    That smile hits me low in the gut. I jog over and put my hand out, helping her slide off the hood and onto the sand next to me. Her hair smells like the ripe grapefruits my grandpa coats in sugar and eats for breakfast.
    She eyes me suspiciously. “You look pretty damn chipper considering how drunk you were last night.”
    Last night she was all dolled up, with dark, sexy makeup and glossy hair. Right now she’s scrubbed clean, her hair slightly wavy and tossed by the wind, and she’s wearing cutoff shorts and a practically see-through tank. Last night’s look was hot, but today’s is soft and touchable.
    And I so want to touch her. All over. Without stopping.
    “My grandpa has a secret recipe,” I confess. “When we go out and get sleazy drunk, I’ll bring you back to my place and give it to you before we…snuggle.” I box her against the car and she leans back with a lazy, sweet smile.
    “You have pretty high hopes for our supposed future dates.” She narrows her big brown eyes at me, but she can’t totally tuck away a smile. “Snuggling, huh?”
    “I’m an awesome snuggler. You have no idea. You know that bear on the fabric softener commercials?”
    “Snuggle the bear?” She giggles. I notice she has a whole sweep of freckles on her nose and cheeks.
    “That’s the one. I taught that fucker everything he knows, no joke.” Her laugh loosens something good and happy in me. I stretch my arms wide. “You want a little sample?”
    She has one hand over her mouth and laughs so hard, she’s doubled over, but she doesn’t accept my