He barks out a laugh as we pull into a parking lot at Coyote Point Marina. “Like that was going to happen.”
He slows to a crawl as he dials his phone and presses it to his ear. “Hey, it’s Marcus Leon. We’re here. Where should we meet you?” He waits while the person on the other end responds, then says, “Great. We’ll see you in a few.” He looks out at the wooden dock we’re passing. “We’re looking for dock eighteen.”
“There,” I say, pointing at the next one up on our right.
He pulls into a spot near the end of the dock and we hop out of the truck.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say as he ushers me over a bridge toward the boats in slips on the dock.
“You told me you went to Roosevelt. Vicky said you were going back where you came from. I took a chance.”
“What if I’d gone in the back door?”
He fixes me in his heated gaze and steals my breath. “If you were on that campus, I was going to find you, Addie. I’m not the type to give up easily.”
About halfway down the long dock, a man steps off a boat and waves a hand over his head. Marcus lays a hand on my back and directs me toward him.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“Ticking one more thing off our bucket list.”
“Sailing,” I say as it dawns. “Please tell me we’re not going around the world today, because I didn’t pack for that,” I say tugging the sleeve of my blue checked flannel shirt.
“Baby steps,” Marcus says. “We’ve got to learn how first.”
We spend the next two hours on an eighteen-foot Clipper with Roy, an older guy with a scruffy beard who looks like he walked off the Pirates of the Caribbean set. I wait for Marcus to break into full-on pirate-eze again. He doesn’t, but he does wink at me as he says “Aye, aye, captain,” and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am. We sit and listen to Roy tell us what all the vital parts of the boat are, then he sails us into the bay.
“It’s perfect weather for this,” he tells us. “The winds are at seven knots, so enough to keep us moving, but not enough to yank the riggings out of your hands.”
I hear him, sort of, but the whole time Roy is teaching us how to hoist the sails, work the rudder, and tack with the wind, all I can do is stare at Marcus. I watch the grin nearly splitting his face grow larger by the second, and by the time he works us back to the docks and Roy maneuvers us into the slip, I know this has been the perfect day.
My heart is heavy as we say our goodbyes and climb into Marcus’s truck. I don’t want today to end, but I can’t hope for anything else. I left Oak Crest to protect him, and we’ve already risked too much.
I don’t say anything as we pull out of the lot and head back toward school.
But then he takes the right onto the highway ramp.
“School is that way,” I say, pointing to the road we just veered off.
“I know.” He flicks a glance my direction. “You promised me one day. The day’s not over yet.”
I settle back in my seat, my nerves cracking like downed power lines under my skin. Even though I desperately what to know where we’re going, I don’t ask. He’s not going to tell me anyway.
He pulls off the highway at an Oakland exit ramp and weaves us through the city streets to a questionable neighborhood. Several of the stores have security gates up in the middle of the day, including the deli he shepherds me toward. He pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks a door to the right of the storefront that leads to a flight of stairs. He lets me pass and the door locks behind us.
Finally I can’t stand it anymore. “What is this place?”
“My sister’s apartment,” he says, guiding me up the stairs. He stops me at the top and reaches for my face, cupping my cheek in his hand, and slowly draws me to him. He kisses me so gently, but I’ve never felt anything more intense. “Okay?” he asks when he draws away.
The burning need to feel his heart beating against mine does battle with my better judgment and loses. I step into his arms.
He kisses me, just a brush of his lips over mine, then slides the key into the lock of the second story door at the top of the stairs. We’re barely through the door before I’m climbing right into him. I rip his shirt over his head, then press him back against the door.
“I like it when you drive,” he says with a smug smile.
I kiss it off his mouth and he moans as I trickle my fingertips down his chest. The sound lights me on fire. I tug my shirt over my head, then unhook my bra and toss it. He stares at me for a long minute before unfastening his jeans and shucking them to the floor.
And then he comes after mine.