Page 27 of Return By Fire

I slip on my sunglasses. “I really want to build something special.”

Her nails tap against the leather wrapped steering wheel as we speed down I-295 in the direction of Ponte Vedra and St. Augustine. “Are you opposed to investors, Jed?”

Intrigued, I ask, “What do you have in mind?”

“Not what, who. Specifically, whom. Let me give a few people a call and how about we meet for dinner—say Thursday? Are you free?”

“My time is my own.” Unfortunately true, I think morosely. I haven’t heard from Dean again since our conversation two nights ago.

Soon we’re back at the boat ramp and she’s slowing down to let me out. She smiles at me when I exit. “We’ll talk soon, Jed.”

Her long dark hair reminds me I owe Maris a very overdue phone call. Deciding it’s a perfect day to bother my sister, I leave Ivy at her car and begin weaving my way around the enormous ships to my more modest vessel.

* * *

“You kissed Dean? Dean Malone? Did he kiss you back?” The abject shock on Maris’s face both amuses and irritates me.

“What? Am I some kind of hag? Why wouldn’t he kiss me?”

“Because he’s Kara’s brother,” is her logic, as if that makes sense. Okay. I’ll give her credit. It does make sense, but only if a person knows the whole convoluted story. Which I’m not supposed to. That just jacks up my irritation even higher.

“And I’m yours. I don’t think he was contemplating that when he was sucking on my...”

“Stop, Jed. Don’t put that image in my mind.”

“His butt is harder than it looks,” I offer instead.

Her response is a screech. Fortunately, Maris and I are talking through my iPad because I get a text at just that moment.

Dean:

You’re making working extremely difficult.

Jed:

You wanted to say hard. Admit it.

Dean:

I’ll admit it when we go on an actual date.

Jed:

Hmm, ask me nicely.

Dean:

I’m not the only one with a mouth—or who knows how to use it.

“Oh my god. You’re texting him right now, aren’t you?”

My smile transforms immediately into a scowl. “How do you know that? Just how?”

“Because when we were kids and a cute boy would text you, you’d get this goofy smile on your face.” She flutters her eye lashes even as she deliberately pops her dimple.

“I don’t look like that.” At least I pray like hell I don’t.

“You do. Every time you start to really like a guy.” She gets unusually quiet. “You like Dean? Really like him?”

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