Page 50 of Stick Break
Her mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”
I gesture to the bow with my chin. “Just saying, that front deck’s practically begging for it. We get out far enough, no one around...”
She swats my arm but laughs. “You’re clearly determined to see me in my bikini.”
“Determined to see you out of it,” I growl.
She smirks. “You do realize Mrs. Callahan is probably looking out her window at us right now.”
“She won’t be able to see once we’re out there.” I point to some distance in the ocean. “Unless she has military-grade binoculars, I think we’re safe.”
“I’m not putting anything past her.”
I start the engine, and the boat vibrates beneath us, purring like it’s itching to run. I untie us from the dock and ease away slowly, the water lapping gently against the hull.
“You comfortable?” I ask as she wiggles in her seat, shoving her hair into her hat and lifting her face to the sun.
“Shockingly, yes,” she says. “Though I reserve the right to panic if we go too fast.”
“This will be fun. I promise.” I slowly pick up speed, letting her get used to it.
She squints into the horizon. “Wait, are there sharks in these waters?”
I laugh. “This isn’t a movie, Charley. ‘Jaws’ was filmed in Massachusetts, not Connecticut.”
“Close enough.”
“Relax. You don’t even have to get in the water.”
“Right.” She breathes out and visibly relaxes. “This is actually really nice, Rip. Like… ridiculously nice.”
My body warms as I steer us past a couple on jet skis, wave to a pontoon full of drunk twenty-somethings, and catch her smiling. Then a guy flies by on water skis, cutting across the wake with ease.
Charley’s eyes track him. She sits up straighter. “That looks…kind of fun.”
I tilt my head. “You look like you want to try it.”
She snorts. “Uh, no. My balance is limited to yoga.”
“Come on. You’d kill it.”
“Do you water ski?”
“Yup.”
“Surf?”
“Yes.”
She studies me with narrowed eyes, like she’s not sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. “Show-off.”
“Hey, I’ll prove it. You, me, beach, one board—I'll even let you watch me wipe out in glorious slow motion.”
She grins. “Now that I’d pay to see.”
“We probably can’t make that happen. At least not on this trip,” I say, and though I keep my voice light, she hears what I don’t say—that I’m talking about my injury. About how she’s never going to see me water ski or surf. Not this week. Probably not ever.
She nods, a small frown tugging at her mouth, and for a beat we’re both quiet. There’s this mutual awareness hanging between us—once this trip is over, so are we. Back to real life. Back to her silence and hiding. Back to me pretending I’m not injured, or pining after a woman who keeps me dangling like a shiny lure.
