The fear disappeared entirely.
I glance back and, craning my neck, can just make out the grin on his face.
It’s obvious he loves this. Everything about it.
The speed, the salt, the icy water.
And I kind of love that he’s sharing it with me.
I replay his words back on the docks, when he asked what I do for fun, and realize he was right. I don’t have any hobbies. Not real ones, anyway. I don’t do anything just for fun — just for me.
It’s a pathetic state of affairs that someone like you doesn’t have a single moment of her day reserved for pure, unadulterated joy.
He’s right. About all of it.
Not that I’ll ever admit that to his face. The man is arrogant enough already.
After a while, I make my way back to the cockpit where he’s standing, two large hands wrapped around the wheel and a grin on his face.
“Admit it,” he yells when I’m within earshot. I can barely hear him over the roar of the wind. “This is pretty fucking great.”
I can’t help smiling as I scream back at him. “It’s okay!”
His eyes narrow. “Just okay?”
I shrug playfully. “I thought it’d be faster!”
He takes my words as a challenge. With one hand on the wheel, he turns the boat so the wind blasts straight across our side, filling the sails to capacity. The boat responds instantly — picking up speed in a burst, heeling over until I think for sure we’ll flip and sink to the bottom of the Atlantic.
A squeak of surprise flies from my mouth and I grip the rail to keep upright.
“Hold on, darling,” Parker calls, eyes flashing as we fly over the waves like a rocket. “I’m about to take you for the ride of your life.”
* * *
It’s dark by the time we pull back into the harbor — well past sunset. Parker docks the boat with expert precision under the low lights of the marina, and I do my best to help with coiling lines and tying us off to the slip, even though I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. He doesn’t mock my efforts — he just smiles and shows me how to make a proper figure-eight knot around a cleat.
We don’t say much of anything as we make our way down into the cabin, but I can’t wipe the dopey grin off my face. I haven’t had such a fun afternoon in… god, I can’t even remember. Even after I’ve collapsed, legs aching, onto the plush white couch, internally I’m still riding the waves of adrenaline that crash through my system.
Parker flips on a light and flops down on the other side of the couch, leaving a few inches between our bodies. I feel the weight of his gaze on my face and turn to narrow my eyes at him.
“What are you looking at?”
“You,” he says simply, leaning his head back against the cushion. His blond hair sticks up in several directions, even messier than usual due to the salt and the wind. I’m sure mine is equally crazy; not even a bottle of industrial strength hairspray can save me at this point, let alone my flimsy elastic.
“Well, stop it,” I say softly. “It’s creepy.”
“Don’t care.” He shakes his head. “I like that look on your face. I’ve never seen it before.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What look?”
“Happy. Relaxed. Satisfied.” He pauses and his eyes go lazy with heat. “Makes me wonder what other faces I could get you to make.”
I elbow him sharply in the side. “Don’t be gross.”
“Oh, relax. It was just a joke.” He laughs and rubs the spot I struck. “Mostly.”
I roll my eyes. “We had such a fun afternoon. Do you have to ruin it?”
“So you admit it was fun?”
“Did I say fun? I meant dysfunctional.”
“Come on.” His tone is teasing. “Admit it.”
“Fine,” I say grudgingly. “You were right. It didn’t completely suck.”
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” He cups one hand around his ear. “I’d like to make sure it’s on the record.”
“You were right,” I grumble.
“Once more?”
“Don’t push it.”
Grinning, he reaches up to unzip his heavy jacket, revealing a thin white t-shirt underneath. Discarding the coat and sliding his suspenders off so they hang around his thighs, he stands and looks down at me. I try — and fail — not to drool at the sight of the red pants riding low on his hipbones.
Hey — I never said I was perfect.
“I’m grabbing a beer. You want one?” he asks, crossing over to the fridge. “Sorry, I don’t have any girly shit here.”
My nose wrinkles. “Girly shit?”
“Cosmos, martinis… Wait, a cosmo is a martini, right? But not all martinis are cosmos… kind of like all squares are rectangles but not all rectangles are squares?” He shakes his head. “Fuck, I don’t know.”
I snort. “Does your brain hurt from that analysis?”
“Yes, wise-ass, it does.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Now tell me what you want to drink.”
“Still waiting for you to tell me what you have.”
“Ah. Right.” An adorable hint of red creeps up his collar. He turns away quickly so I won’t see the blush, pulling open the fridge to look inside. “I have… beer. Beer. And, last but not least… more beer.”