Whatever it is will end in friendship. And why the fuck does that bother me?
Not wanting to ruin the night with overthinking, I head outside and I’m hit by the throaty sound of Celia laughing. I hand her the glass of wine. “What did I miss?”
“Nuthin’.” Jenkins smiles into his fresh beer.
I lift a brow at Celia, who’s now snorting back her laughter.
“Jenkins told me a story about you waking up on some strange boat off the coast of Mexico surrounded by a bunch of half-naked men?”
I tilt my head and stare the mouthy bastard down. “Did he?”
He grins, flashing his three front teeth. “I may have.”
“Is it true?”
Fuckin’ prick. “It’s true.”
Celia leans back grinning. “Oh, I have to hear this.”
I shake my head, wanting to shot-put my elderly neighbor into the open sea. “I took the boat down to Ensenada, drank too much at the bar, got back on my boat to sleep it off, but didn’t realize I was on the wrong fuckin’ boat.”
“He was on the Weenie Yankin’ Yacht.”
Celia bursts into laughter and Jenkins follows.
“No, I was not. It was a bachelor party or some shit. The boat must’ve come untied because when I woke up we were a good hundred yards from land. I could see the dock so I jumped off and swam back to find my boat.”
“You swam?”
“Yes, and what’s worse is I was hung over as hell.”
Her smile falls and her pale eyebrows pinch together. “That’s dangerous.”
“Eh . . . I lived.”
“But sharks—”
“I was on a two-day bender. Pretty sure the smell of booze coming from my body repelled any living thing within a five-yard radius.”
Jenkins cackles. “Except the weenie yankers.”
“Laugh it up, old man. Maybe we should tell her about the time you got pick-pocketed for seven hundred bucks by a transvestite prostitute the last time we were in Mexico together, huh? Talk about weenie yanking, that girl had her hands in all your pockets.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining. Best hand job I ever had.”
Now we’re all laughing.
“Worth every dollar he took.”
SAWYER
“I’d be happy to walk you back to your boat, if that’s okay with you?” I’m helping Jenkins off Aden’s boat after an amazing dinner and even better conversation.
He leans his frail body against me, his hand around my back and resting curiously close to my ass. “Oh yeah, I could use a little help, honey.”
Aden makes a sound of disgust and he shakes his head, but he’s smiling.
“Which one is yours?”
He smells like stale beer, sweat, and dead fish. Each smell separately would turn my stomach but when combined, if the smell had a face, it would be Captain Jack Sparrow. Limping at my side I have to wonder if he’s doing that for my benefit or because his knees are bothering him. A loud thump sounds behind me and I don’t have to look to know that Aden is following us.
“Right here.” He motions to an old sailboat with chipped paint and a rusty anchor. “I could use your help gettin’ to bed, gettin’ my pants off and—”
“Drawing the line there, old man.” There’s humor in Aden’s voice.
“Fine.” He leans in to my ear. “I had to try.” His wheezing laughter makes me laugh and Aden groan.
He pushes off from me and boards his boat without the slightest struggle and it’s then I know for sure I’d been had.
Aden’s arm comes over my shoulder and I melt into his side. “Good night, you old fart!”
“Yeah . . . you too, you lucky son of a bitch,” Jenkins mumbles, making Aden chuckle.
“Sorry about that.” He swings me around to head back to his boat.
“He’s pretty funny. I can’t believe he’s sailed around Mexico.”
He does what he did earlier, straddling the gap of water between the dock and his boat to help me on board. “Yeah, he’s been around for awhile.”
I grab a few empty beer bottles and paper plates, tossing them in the garbage. “You guys seem close.”
He rinses out my empty glass and grabs a water bottle out of the fridge, handing it to me. “He’s probably my only friend.”
I take the offered bottle and cock a hip. “Your only friend?”
His hands slide around my waist and his eyes flare, the brown seeming to go from solid to molten. “Are you my friend?”
I gasp as he grips my ass. “I’d like to think so.” My voice shakes and he stares at my mouth.
“You’re more.”
“I am?” The two whispered words fall from my parted lips.
He leans down, hunching his tall frame to bring his mouth close to mine. “So much more.” Raining kisses along my jaw my knees wobble with the force it takes to remain standing.
I slide my hands up his arms, over the muscles at his shoulders, and lock them behind his neck. “I can’t explain any of this.”
“Don’t even try.” He nuzzles my throat. “Let’s just go with it.” He bends his knees and in one powerful swoop I’m cradled in his arms.
In a couple long strides he lays me down on the bed and slides a flimsy accordion door closed behind him.
“The walls of the boat are a lot thinner than your cottage.” He’s flashing a half smile while pulling his shirt off over his head.
“You worried I’ll wake the neighbors?” I kick off my shoes and pull my sweatshirt off so I’m sitting in nothing but a plain white bra and cutoffs.
He crawls over me, forcing me to my back, then slides his knee between my thighs and parts them. “I’m counting on it.”
ADEN
It’s been said that there are two kinds of women.
The kind you fuck.
And the kind you marry.
I’m overly familiar with the first kind. Accustomed to the rushing-for-the-goal kind of sex that meets those basic needs and helps to redirect my thoughts to something more pleasurable.
But this . . . Fuck. This is most definitely not that.
I want to spend days in Celia’s body. I want to slow things to a crawl and feel every single touch, every brush of her fingertips, slide of her tongue, all of it. I even stopped drinking hours ago to sober up for this and that shit is so far from my norm it’s borderline scary.
And how in the ever-loving hell can she bring me to my knees in a white cotton bra and shorts? No clue, but the second she pulled her sweatshirt off I almost dropped right then and there.
“Why are you staring at me?” I blink up and am met with those green eyes, but they’re clouded with insecurity. “I probably should’ve brought something sexier—”
“You fuckin’ kidding me?” I cup her face and make sure she’s locked there, unable to look away. “You’re so hot, I can’t stop looking at you.”
Our lips come together in a kiss that I feel down my spine. There has to be some explanation as to why everything with Celia is so much more . . . intense. Maybe it’s because I know she’s leaving? The thought that I can’t have her whenever I want her, which if she stayed would be always, is making me want her more.