We stare at each other. Of course, I’m the first one to blink. But I choose to blame his sinful gray eyes. You can’t look at them too long without damaging your own.
“How’s the beer?” I ask, looking away.
I laugh. “Don’t blame me. That was Dane’s.”
Anton scowls. “How a man could have so little taste as to choose this piss and so much as to choose you is a baffling contradiction.”
“I’m not totally sure,” I muse, “but I’m pretty sure that’s a compliment?”
“It’s an acknowledgment that you dodged a bullet.”
I snort out a laugh. “I wouldn’t say that. I ran away from Dane and right onto your boat. Feels like I dodged a bullet and waltzed into a nuke.”
“Some would call that luck,” he says smugly.
“That’s not the word I would use.”
“Maybe you will, in the future.”
“I think you’re overest
