...I opened my door Saturday morning and found Bill Anson there, fist poised to knock.

We both jumped and then laughed.

“Jeez, you scared me,” I said.

“Me, too. I thought if you were up and hadn’t eaten you might want to hit the student union to get some breakfast.”

“You must read minds. That’s where I was headed. I’m fresh out of Cheerios, milk and java.”

As we crossed the quad and headed up Admin Hill to The Pit Bull, the early morning sun fell on his tanned legs where they showed below navy cargo shorts. The same fine sprinkling of light brown hair on his arms covered his legs. His rugby shirt sported wide white stripes alternating with navy, adding breadth to his lean frame. He might be slender, but his leg muscles were firm and defined. He even wore socks with his cross trainers. That wasn’t the style, but on him, the whole package looked good. I mean, sexy and really good.

I suddenly felt scruffy because I wasn’t wearing socks and hadn’t shaved. Bill’s face was clean and his hair was still slightly damp from the shower.

Not many students were up this early, so we found a table near a window looking down on the quad and its surrounding trees. The eastern sun created leafy tree shadows on the emerald grass. I ordered scrambled eggs, toast, crisp bacon and an espresso from the barrista. Bill ordered oatmeal, which he loaded with brown sugar, chopped walnuts and raisins. He chose hot cocoa—no whip— to drink. We sat and talked until they called our order numbers, then went to the pick-up window for our food.

“Everything’s good here,” he said, as we carried our trays to the table.

I nodded, and we ate in silence until we’d demolished the food, then sat back to enjoy our drinks.

We were carrying our trays to the “Please Bus Your Own” area to discard the trash and leave our trays when Bill asked, “You busy this morning?”

I had tons of homework to do, but something urged me to toss caution out the window and hang out. With Bill. So I told a white lie. “Not really. Why? You got something planned?”

He nodded. “I have to run an errand for my mother, then I thought we could go to the beach. The weather’s perfect. Do you surf?”

A surfer dude. I’d pegged him right. “I swim, but me surfing is not something you want to watch. I take it you ride the waves.”

He mentioned the San Diego university he’d attended for his undergraduate degree. It had the reputation of being a party school and was near the ocean. He seemed less serious than me, but I couldn’t imagine him partying wildly. I could visualize him on a board.

“I take it they offered surfing classes.”

He laughed. “Yep. And today the meteorologist on the Los Angeles channel says the surf’s up. A man’s gotta catch those waves while he can.”

I hesitated. Could I really afford to laze on the sand and soak up the sun? My skin was fair and burned easily, despite my dark hair and eyes, and I hated salt water stinging my eyes.

“Come with me,” he coaxed. “It’ll be good for us. I don’t know about you, but my mind needs a rest from figuring out the galaxy.”

I looked into the steady gaze from eyes the rich color of amber. Hadn’t noticed their color until now.

“I could go alone, but I’d prefer your company.”