Page 69 of Whirlwind
“Yeah. It’s a thing, right? Or are you going to say no and ruin my fantasies?”
“You have fantasies about athletes masturbating together?”
“Not regularly, but a few times, sure,” I say, turning to watch him as he drives. He’s got the biggest grin—the kind that crinkles at the corners and shows a lot of teeth. Genuine. I like that I amuse him, and not because he’s making fun of me. “Guys think about sex a lot; it would only make sense. Not just with athletes—I bet musicians do it, too…all that time spent on tour buses.”
“No, I never have, to answer your question. Though, yes, it happens. Especially in juniors. Boys are horny and generally gross,” he says. “I’m much more interested in these fantasies of yours.”
“Men masturbating is a favorite,” I say. “You probably get told this often, but you have a great smile.”
“I don’t think anyone but my mom has ever said that to me. And she’s got a big bias.” My bias is running deep these days, too. But I keep that to myself, afraid to let him know how connected I feel—how dependent I can see myself becoming on his easy, calming charm. Willa reminded me earlier to not overthink thewhat ifs, so I try to force out the thoughts of how great a partner, a husband, a father Tyson could be to someone. The bond he has with Sadie lets me know that’s something he’d want. But I don’t know thatwifeormotherare in the cards for me. I don’t know how to be either of those, never having had examples.
“I smile more around you than I do most others, though,” he says, pulling into a parking lot at the marina.
“Are we going out on a boat?”
“Yeah. I checked with Willa to make sure that wasn’t something you’d hate.”
“I was with that traitor all day and she never said.”
“I bribed her with a donation to that women’s clinic she’s been working with.”
“That’d do it,” I say. “We normally don’t keep secrets.”
“A surprise, not a secret. Wait there—I’ll come around.”
I watch in a bit of disbelief as he comes around to open my door and help me out of the vehicle. In my whole life, I never felt truly cared for. My safety and upbringing were an afterthought for my father—something he felt obligated to do under duress. Fatherhood wasn’t natural or innate to him.
My fingers tremble as Tyson takes my hand. He doesn’t ask if I’m okay, but his eyes bounce around my face, looking for signs. Stretching to my toes, I press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He leads me by the hand to an actual fucking yacht—not a huge one, but still an expensive vessel.
“I’ve never been on a boat bigger than a rowboat,” I whisper as we near it.
“Really? Not even a ferry?”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “We have the largest ferry system, and I haven’t been on a single one of them.”
“Hello, Mr. Murphy, Ms. Ashcroft,” a man greets us when we walk up the small ramp to the boat. “I’m Severan, and I’ll be making sure you have everything you need this evening.”
“Thank you, Severan,” Tyson tells him as we follow him to the back of the boat. A table has been draped in white linens, decorated with bursting bouquets of hydrangea, and lit by flickering festoon lighting above.
We sit, and Severan pours wine and points out a card placed between Tyson and me. It’s a seven-course pre-determined menu with the chef’s name on it—a name even I recognize.
“Tyson, what have you done?”
17
Tyson
“Called in a favor. Wanted it to be special,” I say, as if it’s no big deal to hire a Michelin-star chef for a date night on a random Thursday. It was simple enough to set up, since Luther is a friend of mine. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Her eyes are wide, tinged with a sparkle of wetness as the boat starts to troll away from the dock.
“I’m a little overwhelmed.”
“Why?” I ask, palming her cheek to keep her looking at me.
