“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He reaches out a hand. My brain isn’t receiving messages as to what for because it’s too distracted by the cords of muscle that make up this man’s forearm. The light brown hair and the prominent vein that runs the length of said arm are the ultimate accessories to his God-like forearms. It’s a body part that shouldn’t make me flustered, but I’ve never seen forearms like his before. Surely this is some illusion, a trick of light or a flex pose made possible by the weight of my phone, a mere five ounces. That’s the reason he’s got his arm outstretched. “The message you were playing sounded private. I wanted you to know you weren’t alone.”

“Oh. Right.” Finally, I accept my phone, hoping that the cringe I feel internally knowing a stranger just heard my boyfriend break up with me over a voicemail isn’t apparent on my face. Speaking of faces…this guy has one.

How have I not even looked at his face? Oh, that’s right, I was too busy drooling over the forearm porn he was providing me with. My eyes roam up his body. And in case anyone’s wondering, he’s no Popeye. His forearms are perfectly proportionate to the rest of his muscular frame. He definitely works out. Maybe even plays a sport. Back to his face. It’s good. Better than good. Square jaw, defined nose, enough scruff on his chin to tell the world he’s got plenty of testosterone pumping through his veins. Thick, sandy brown hair that’s long enough to have a slight wave in it. I can’t tell what color his eyes are in the dim light, but when he smiles, they fill with humor and a dimple appears in his left cheek.

I know that because he’s smiling at me right now.

“It’s my birthday.” I announce out of nowhere. He’s probably thrilled that he’s stuck out here with an excellent conversationalist like myself.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” The goofy smile that forms on my face is surprising. Why is this guy making me feel giddy?