Mia forced back the heat rising to her cheeks by adopting an air of cool professionalism as she stood up and reclaimed the stool behind the reception desk -- indicating with a flick of her hand that Surfer Dude's place was on the other side of it.
He rose to his full height and nearly took her breath away.
Well over six feet of prime, masculine real estate.
When he glanced down at her, her toes curled within the chunky fleece-lined boots she’d taken from Letisha’s locker.
She adjusted her eyeglasses with scholarly deliberation and then picked up a digitex plasma clipboard as if it were a shield.
"What seems to be the problem?" she asked.
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