Page 9 of Single Malt Drama

“No, but that doesn’t mean I’m here now because I have a thing for her.”

He turned. “You’ve drooled over Nico since we were kids. It’s time someone told you how it is.”

He was pissing me off in a major way because he was right. I had followed Nico around like a puppy, but that was what made my temporary marriage plan utter genius. I could spend time with her, in and out of bed, and finally get the woman out of my system. “How is it?”

“She’s just not that into you.”

I’d heard enough. Brother or not, Dante could kiss my ass if he thought I was going to stand there and let him bust my balls. “Shut up and drive.”

“Steer. You drive a car, but you steer a boat.” He pulled back on the throttle. The boat lurched forward so abruptly, I scrambled to find a handhold.

“What the hell?”

“Just trying to get the princepessa to Comiso as soon as possible.”

“Don’t call her that.” Not only was the nickname demeaning, Enzo had used the Italian version of princess to address Nico since we were in grade school. The last thing I wanted was to remind her of her would-be husband.

“I’ll lay off the pet names if you reach around and pull that giant stick out of your ass. I’m not the enemy here.”

While I hated to admit it, he was right. Dante had risked as much as I had for a lot less potential reward. “Sorry. I’m running on Red Bull and espresso.”

Dante rolled his head from one side to the other as if to relieve the tension in his neck. “Speaking of that, I need a couple hours of shut-eye. I’m going below.”

“Like hell. Sleep on one of the couches up here.” The thought of him below deck with Nico had me clenching my fists again.

What the hell is wrong with me? She’s a friend, a hot friend, but nothing to get jealous over.

“Take it easy. The last thing I want is her talking my ear off, or crying on my shoulder, while I’m trying to sleep.” He yawned, shook his head, and rubbed his eyes.

“The Grassos are in one cabin and Nico’s in the other. Let me make sure she’s comfortable hanging out in the galley while you sleep.”

“Why wouldn’t she be? I’m not going to hit on your crush.” Dante must have seen my frustration in my expression because he hitched a shoulder and gave me a half grin. “Marco, relax. The windows are tinted. Keep her out of view of the windshield, and she’ll be fine up here with you.”

“Do you think you can stay awake long enough for me to talk to her, or do you need your nap and blankie now?”

He flipped me the finger, adjusted course, and opened up the throttle.

I knew Dante meant well, but he didn’t understand. Sure, he was right about my childhood crush, but he was wrong about everything else. Nico and I had talked or texted a couple times a week since high school. I was her confidant, the person who talked her through break-ups, her problems at home, her hopes and dreams. It wasn’t like I was in love with her. We were friends, but I’d be open to adding benefits.

I walked below deck and knocked on her cabin door. “Nic?”

“Yes?” Her voice came out small and unsure.

“Dante needs to crash for a couple of hours. Come upstairs and keep me company.”

“He can have the cabin, but I’d rather stay below deck.”

Resting my head on the doorjamb, I debated my options. I could leave her down here alone, and from the sounds of it, crying, or I could use a little Marchionni creativity to convince her to come out. “Nic, sorry to lay this on you, but Dante and I are bone tired. He needs sleep, and I could really use some help upstairs. Boating while sleep-deprived is a crime in the States.”

The lock turned, and she opened the door a sliver.

Slumping my shoulders, I gave her the most pathetic expression I could muster. “Please.”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “You were here before my shower and you didn’t seem tired.”

“Caffeine crash.” I yawned and brought my fist to my mouth. “Dante’s in even worse shape. Neither of us slept last night.”

“Yes, fine.” Nico stepped out of the room and motioned to the red blouse and pair of white capris-pants. “I didn’t need your T-shirt after all.”

I struggled to hide my grin. She wore my mother’s clothes. The problem was Nico stood five feet eleven, a foot taller than my mom. “I would have suggested you search the closet and drawers, but I didn’t think anything here would fit.”

She gave me a playful slap. “They don’t. I had to tie the shirt and roll up the pants.”

I took a step back and looked her over from her thick, dark hair, to her red toenail polish. My gaze hung up on the swath of tanned skin between the bottom of the T-shirt and waistband of the pants. I’d seen this woman wearing everything from evening gowns to string bikinis, but that band of peek-a-boo skin was hands down the sexiest thing ever.

Nico folded her arms and turned from me. “We should go topside.”

Licking my lips, I shook my head. “Can we talk first?”

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