By Stephen J. Cannell
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Additional info for At First Sight: A Novel of Obsession
Hence the little foot jiggle. Adorable. I found every one of these imperfections delightful. After a week of constantly being with our new friends, Paige and Chandler, we had a farewell dinner at the hotel and promised to stay in touch. We all kissed each other goodbye. Our first kiss—only a cheek peck. But I swear, I almost fainted from ecstasy. We exchanged digits and addresses, and under most circumstances, that would have been the end of it. We would have never seen each other again, except I was more hopelessly in love with her now than I had been in the beginning.
Shit, a monster! So, there you have the gist of it. Me, standing there with a body that already felt like the home stretch at Hollywood Park, him looking like Bluto in a TV-show ball cap. Normally I don’t back down, but this morning, with everything else, I just decided to let him have the cabana . . but not before giving this bastard a good parting shot. “You haven’t heard the last of this,” I whimpered. Shit. More and more, I was beginning to act and sound like a total pussy. Next I had to take on Evelyn.
This was destiny. So I made my way closer to her. “It’s okay,” I panted. “Shark,” she said in desperation, her eyeballs white with fear. ’” She started to swim to shore, but was panicking, beating the water with her arms and legs . . thrashing, getting nowhere fast. Time for Chick Cousteau, the old shark expert, to take over. By the way, just so there is no misunderstanding here, I know next to nothing about sharks. “Don’t thrash. You’ll look like a wounded seal. ” I’d heard that on the Discovery Channel and those three sentences maxed out my knowledge of water predators.