Page 1 of Knockin' Boats
CHAPTER 1
Sawyer
The water was choppy today,thanks to a stiff breeze. My windbreaker whipped around me and only my ball cap restrained my mop of curly hair from doing the same.
“All right, everyone, you can see the lights of the Shallow Beach strip on your port side.” I paused. “That’s left, for you landlubbers.”
The vivid neon lights were easy to read even from halfway across the lake.Wet Dreams.Fantasea.The Thirsty Mermaid. I’d never been to Vegas, but I imagined this was our own mini strip, full of bars, nightclubs, and overpriced restaurants.
There was some laughter, then, “Wait,ShallowBeach? Isn’t it Swallow Beach?”
Oops. I hitched on my most charming grin, which probably wasn’t that charming at the end of a double shift to cover this last-minute boat tour, but I did my best.
This early in the season, Swallow Adventures was operating with a skeleton crew. Mainly, me and the owner, Hudson Nash.
“Ah, you caught me! It’s just a little joke we locals have,” I called, craning my head to glance over my shoulder toward the group perched on the semicircle of pleather seating. “Swallow Cove folks call the beach shallow because it’s a party destination.”
The chill wind bit my cheeks, but I’d gotten used to how damn cold it could get on the boats at night when we weren’t in the full blast of summer. May was still nippy, but that didn’t stop folks from starting their summer vacations.
As for my tour group? They weren’t feeling the cold, not with the alcohol warming their veins. Every one of them held a drink, and judging by the nearly overflowing recycling bin, they weren’t on their first.
At least the lake wasn’t truly busy yet. We had a few weeks before it turned into a roiling expressway of overly large boats to go with inflated egos, drunken partiers crowding pontoons, anglers, and water sports enthusiasts.
Speaking of drunken partiers, a cheer went up from the group on my boat and was echoed back with a few catcalls and whistles from a pontoon that I already recognized from its garish paint job.
Great, a DreamBoat.
The months between seasons when I hadn’t had to deal with those jack wagons had been sweet relief. I’d hoped it would last a little longer.
All the old irritation rose like a tide. And along with it, the niggling thought,It better not be Ash.
My booze cruise was relatively tame tonight, a group of middle-aged executives on a team-building weekend trip. They were drinking enough to get loud and happy, but they weren’t looking to orgy right on the boat.
The same could not be said for the DreamBoat.
The cherry-red pontoon heading toward us looked tame enough, except for the fact it was packed with rowdy, dancing people. DreamBoats marketed themselves as a party boat service and they mostly entertained large groups.
Judging from the sheer number of women, I was guessing that tonight it was a bachelorette party.
I slowed the boat to safely cross paths with them. As they neared, a wide, shit-eating grin came into view.
Goddammit.
Perfect teeth, strong jawline behind a short beard, wavy blond hair tousled by the wind andstilllooking perfectly styled?
It was Ash, all right.
The golden boy of the Ozarks. The man who got everything he wanted in life.
Once, that had been my friendship. But when my family imploded and I had to move to Swallow Cove, I’d soon learned loyalty wasn’t something he possessed.
I’d lost my home, my school, mygirlfriend.
And when I’d needed my best friend, where was he? Busy hooking up with my ex without so much as a courtesy call or text. We’d gone from teammates to rivals overnight, but I’d always thought we’d be friends when it counted.
Wrong.
As far as I was concerned, Ash Dixon could stay the fuck away from me.
