Page 8 of Rum Sips and Salty Lips

“I have done that before.” She’s defensive. “I can take time off.”

“Really?” I’m skeptical. “Prove it. Let’s play a game.”

She looks at me over her glass, taking another sip. “What kind of game?”

“Two truths and a lie.”

“This seems like a bit.”

She sees right through me. I can’t think of a better way to let her know exactly what I’m thinking and give her a chance to be vulnerable and safe. So I shrug and sip my rum. “It’s up to you. But you should know, Carina, I expect honesty. You’re mistaken if you think I don’t notice all the little ways you hide.”

She looks at me like she’s hungry but doesn’t react. I wonder what she expected when she walked over tonight. If this is what she was looking for.

I could be ruining absolutely everything right now. She could be imagining tossing her rum in my face and storming off. Telling Alex Barnes and the Foleys I’m a fuckwit they shouldn’t do business with.

I’ll be driven out of town by morning, if my conversations with Alex and Nathan are any indication. The beautiful house I’ve remodeled, where I hear waves crashing on the beach, I’d have to convert to a vacation rental.

I won’t have the anchor point I’ve sought since my accident all those months ago. I’ll be cut loose and left to float with the current.

But if she wants this. If she’s here the same way I am…

It’ll be worth it.

“Fine.” She pulls a metal water bottle from her bag and takes a drink. “You go first.”

“My favorite place to sail is Santorini. I’m left-handed. I think you’re beautiful.” My glass is down so she can’t tell which hand I prefer from that. But she watched me raise the sails earlier.

“You’re definitely right-handed,” she says.

I take a sip of my drink in response. “Your turn.”

She flushes and looks at me, her mind calculating. This woman thinks everything through. She doesn’t jump. Have I given her enough for her to trust me?

“My favorite yoga retreat was in Thailand. I’m not wearing panties. My eyes are green.”

I almost don’t catch the lie. My brain cut out when she said “panties.” I can’t help it. I look down at her lap as if I could see through the fabric.

“These leggings are Nebula Athletics,” she says. “They’re squat proof. No way you can see through.”

“Do you always wear your own clothes?” I ask.

“Of course.” She blinks a few times at the silliness of my question. “You haven’t answered yet.”

“I’ve sailed through storms the color of yourgrayeyes.”

She takes a sip.

This is it. It feels right. It’s not a risk anymore. The wind has blown me toward her. It’s my turn again, and I’ll place my lie in the middle. “I got tested after my last girlfriend and don’t have any health concerns. I don’t have any condoms. The sheets on my bed are clean.” My wallet is on the shelf next to me, and from it, I take out the one condom I have.

“You can do laundry on this boat?” she asks quickly.

“I don’t. I have a spare set.”

“The obvious lie is the condom.” Her eyes move from the condom to my face. “We should establish expectations.”

I laugh, my whole body falling into it. I didn’t expect her to swoon for me, but how quickly she switches from flirtation to business is unexpected.

Maybe it shouldn’t be. I should have realized even a hookup is something she thinks through.

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