Page 82 of Ship Outta Luck

TWENTY-TWO

JUNE

Stars,brighter here than they have any right to be, twinkle overhead, the moon low and heavy against the light-studded sea.

I inhale deeply, sleepy and stuffed to the gills from the huge dinner. Empty paper plates crackle in the bonfire, and chocolate oozes from the half-eaten s’more on my lap.

Pierce and Charlie retreated back to their boat not long after dessert, borrowing the inflatable dinghy to get off the beach. Pierce barely spoke to me since I called him out at the bonfire.

A real loss. Not.

“I can see why you didn’t get the grant.”

The words left an ugly smear in my mind, and I wish I could put my finger on what else it is about Dean’s partner that irritates me so much.

I have no idea what the heck Charlie sees in him.

Or maybe, just maybe, I really don’t know Charlie as well as I think I do. Maybe I read her wrong from the start, ignored any red flags in favor of having a friend.

Behind me, metal and plastic clink as Thorne and Thompson sort a ridiculous amount of weaponry and food into backpacks with price tags still on them. Guns, knives, and something that looks frightfully like a hand grenade.

It’s not like they sellthoseat Wal-Mart. And why the heck do they think we each need a survival bag? I’m not entirely sure I want to voice that question.

Ignorance is bliss and I sure as heck could use a blissful night of sleep.

Dean says I’m safe with them. If that means a backpack full of weapons and protein bars, then I trust his judgment. Which, I do. I do trust his judgment.

I’ve gone from panicked to soothed all because these men, especially Dean, make me feel safe. Cared for. His men trust him implicitly, are loyal to him. Protective of him. He inspires them, a natural leader. Heck, he inspires me.

And despite our conflicting beliefs about what my father was leading me toward, Dean never makes me feel stupid for hoping. He’s been accommodating and kind and careful.

Affection swells in me.

I like him.

I like how he makes me feel. His men are right; Deanisa good man.

As long as I don’t think too hard about why they want to keep me safe, I’m… content.

Biting my lower lip, I push clean hair out of my eyes. The fire dances against the dark night sky, brilliant oranges and reds. Thorne is deep in conversation with Thompson as they continue sorting supplies.

Sneaking a peak, I look at the man settled next to me on the sand, swigging from a Gatorade, a sleeping bag rolled up under his arm.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” It should sound silly, greeting each other after all the time we’ve spent together today. But the deep rasp of his voice, the simple word, and the weight of his presence by my side is a comfort.

I turn the fishing lure we found over in my hand, firelight dancing off the metal.

“Still no idea what that means, huh?”

Gently, he takes it from me, dangling it so the poison-green strips float behind it.

Thompson walks over.

“Think fast.” He tosses me a protein bar, and I catch it easily. “Good reflexes.”

“I’m full. I couldn’t possible eat any more.”

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