Page 3 of Bait and Switch
“Yeah, poor bastard,” Nolan chuckled, taking a big gulp of his PBR, foam clinging to his mustache.
The simultaneous novelty and normalcy of massive amounts of narcotics floating in the ocean was something I hadn’t gotten used to. It was the first real life case of a cocaine bale I’d heard of in my three months in the Keys. Drugs washing ashore always seemed more like folklore, the kind of thing whispered about in warnings and old Keys stories. The kind of thing that carried a dark intrigue no matter how many beers you wrapped it in. But now that a real life square grouper was caught just a few miles off the reef, it was more like a local event, maybe even a point of pride. It made me wonder if the town had ever moved on from the sordid past that gained Smugglers Cove its name.
The front door swung open, the bell jangling against the glass. A rush of humid air rolled in, carrying the tang of salt and fried fish from the takeout joint next door. The noise level dipped for a heartbeat, every head swiveling toward the door. It was instinct — new arrivals always drew a measure, but this one carried a weight of anticipation.
“Speak of the devil!” Glen announced, raising his empty glass like a toast.
I looked up to see a shaggy-haired, tall and tanned hunk of a man stepping into the bar. My pulse tripped. Memory slammedinto me—starlight, laughter, the slickness of water against bare skin years ago. My body remembered even if my mind tried to blur the details.
Brett and Nolan both turned, grins wide. Brett hollered, “Fisherman of the year with that million dollar catch!”
My mouth dropped open when I recognized the new local celebrity. We’d met at Hog Heaven when I was down with my parents for summer after my junior year, three years ago. That night had ended with skinny-dipping under the stars after the bar closed. Heat rose to my cheeks before I could stop it.Fuck.I gripped the bar rail, grounding myself, praying he didn’t remember as vividly as I suddenly did.
Was his name Kai? It didn’t quite ring a bell, but the details were fuzzy. I’d left in a hurry after our naked romp, slipping away before dawn. Not my proudest moment. He’d asked for my number while we waited for Ubers, but I’d blown him off. He was hot, and we had some drunken fun, but I wasn’t about to fall for some fisherman in Florida while I was still in college in Minnesota.
“Yeah, yeah,” Kai said bashfully as he settled onto the stool beside Brett. “Can we NOT talk about the bale?” His tone was half a joke, half a plea, but the stiffness in his shoulders told a different story.
“Come on, dude. You gotta celebrate the wins,” Nolan added.
“Whatever. I wish it’d been you who won this one.”
Brett laughed, slapping him on the back hard enough to make Kai’s shoulders jolt. “I wouldn’t have called it in.”
“Didn’t have a choice,” Kai said, shaking his head before his hazel eyes finally found mine across the bar. His gaze pinned me, sharp and curious. “Can I get a Stella please?”
I blinked at him, waiting for recognition to dawn. My face burned hot as a live coal under my skin, but Kai just stared back like I was a stranger. The breath I’d been holding rushed out, equal parts relief and disappointment.
“Sure,” I said quickly, grabbing a frosty mug from the cooler. My hand trembled under the tap as I poured, foam nearly spilling over the rim. I counted to five, drawing in a deep breath, pasting on a smile. “There you go,” I said, setting the beer on a mat in front of him.
“Thanks.” His grin softened, but his brow furrowed as his gaze searched my face. “You’re new, huh? How long have you been at the Whistle Stop?”
“Three months as of last week.”
“You don’t know Jasmine?” Brett laughed under his breath, nudging him. “Dude, you gotta get out more.”
“Apparently, you’re right,” Kai said, eyes still studying me. “Pleasure to meet you, Jasmine. I’m Kai Rodman.” He reached across the bar, hand extended.
“Nice to meet you too, Kai.” My palm brushed his, and the heat of it lingered too long. I had to fight the urge to pull away too quickly, terrified he’d feel my nerves buzzing under my skin.
“So is that three months living in the Keys? Or did you work elsewhere before landing in this fine establishment?”
“Nope. I moved down from Minnesota in February.”
“That sounds like a good time to leave Minnesota,” he laughed, the sound low and warm. “What a coincidence. The guys on my boat the day I found the square grouper were from Minnesota." His dry laugh seemed forced, like he didn’t find it funny at all.
“Is that so?” I asked, wiping a splash of liquor off the bar. “I suppose we’re good luck then.”
“Pff. Yeah,” he muttered. And then, apparently eager to change the subject, he asked, “How you liking the Keys?”
“Oh, I love it. My parents have a condo here, so I’ve been coming down for years. Spring breaks, summers,” I held his gaze, desperate for some flicker of recognition. But there was nothing. Not even a hint. It stung more than I wanted to admit, like our night together had dissolved into sea foam.
“Sure beats the snow,” he said, smiling.
“Yeah, yeah. Enough about the weather,” Brett huffed, waving his Guinness. “Come on, man, tell us the square grouper story.”
Glen piped up from across the bar, polishing his glass like a referee’s whistle. “Don’t be a party pooper, Rodman. Let us live vicariously through you.”
Kai’s shoulders slumped. “Nothing much to tell,” he said, not masking his annoyance, eyes rolling as he drew in a deep breath. “On our way back from the Humps, my client—fromMinnesota,” he added, shooting me a look, “spotted the bale and insisted that we call it in. So we did. And after two hours of dealing with the Coast Guard, it was finally over. Not exciting, at all.” He slugged half his Stella, the muscles in his throat working as if he wanted to drown the conversation with the beer. His tone was dismissive, but his eyes shuttered for a split second, a flicker of something darker he didn’t want them to see.
