Page 88 of Rum Sips and Salty Lips

“Then I would need you and your boat money.”

He looks me in the eye and holds me steady. “If everything in your life fell apart, I would take you out on theTwisted Rigging. We wouldn’t return until the only things you remember are me, my body, and the ocean.”

I surge into him, capturing his lips. I need to consume him as much as he needs me. Our bodies are ready for each other. He’s hard and I’m wet, and when we do this I can almost believe everything will be okay. That we’ll make this last forever.

After, I rest my head against his chest. “How did you begin your empire? Or is it an armada once you have two fleets? Should I call you ‘Commodore’?”

“It’s not exciting.”

“You knew the deal when you asked me.”

“Yes, but I hoped to distract you with sex.”

“That doesn’t work with me. Single point of focus.”

“I love being the object of your focus,” he states.

I squirm. It’s too good to hear. It’s far too close to what I want. And he is the object of my focus far more than I could ever tell him.

I kiss him to distract from his statement and hopefully steer us back to safety. He leans away enough to look me in the eyes. I’m naked and wrapped around him with nothing between us.

“I always loved sailing. I got a job on a sailboat as soon as I could and trained for my captain’s license. I took tours out into Boston Harbor. Saved enough to buy a second boat. Every winter, I traveled. The business grew. I hired more crew. I bought more boats. Some days were struggles, but overall, it wasn’t.”

“You poor, white man.” Sarcasm fills my voice.

“I know.” He shifts and pulls me against him. I’m pressed against his chest. His skin is warm against mine. “I have everything.”

I want to believe that statement is about me, but I’m too afraid to let myself hope.

thirty-four

ORION

The Lost CraftCharters shop is a total money grab—we stock the things guests forget, put our logo on it, and then overcharge. Plus, souvenirs and popular resort wear.

Our Nebula Athletics order came in. I’m pleased it’s selling so well. It’ll be another few weeks before we have our branded gear, but I like having a piece of Carina around me.

“Ohh. I love this brand,” a woman from my last tour shrieks as she scours the rack with her friends.

I force myself to keep my smile internal as I review the sailing schedule. I’m so proud of Carina. If she’d let me, I’d spend all my time talking about how amazing my girlfriend’s clothing is.

And she’d deny almost every word of my praise.

“Oh no,” her friend bemoans. “They claim to use recycled stuff, but it’s a lie. I watched a whole video on it this morning. I’m boycotting.”

My ears start ringing, matched with a twisted feeling in my gut. Like the boat I’m on has suddenly been hit with fifteen-foot waves.

That can’t be right. Carina wouldn’t lie. Sustainability is important to her. They must be wrong. There is some kind of mix-up. She’d be devastated if this was true.

“I’ll be in my office,” I tell Nathan, who’s staffing the cash register, and head to the dock for some quiet. TheTwisted Riggingis at the end, and I’m drawn to her. She’s my safe space, and even if everything here in Wendell Beach fell apart, I will always have my boat.

I head out of the sun and into the galley and pull out my phone, searching social media.

It doesn’t take me long.

Fuck.

Fuck.

---