Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I blink back tears. I didn’t know it, but that’s exactly what I needed to hear this morning.
CHAPTER 20
TATE
“That was incredible!” Riley exclaims. The teenager’s face is flushed with excitement as he helps me tie off the line. We just got back from a double-handed sail on the practice dinghy. It was windier than anticipated today, so we caught some major speed. Also ended up in the bay more times than I would’ve liked, but you’ve got to be prepared for that in competitive racing. That’s why I love it so much. Always guaranteed a wild ride.
“I can’t believe how fast we were going,” the kid gushes.
“That was awesome,” I agree, hopping onto the pier.
“When can we take the Optimist out?”
I snicker. “Yeah, hold your horses, kid. Not until you have a few more lessons under your belt.” The boat we used today is far easier to handle. She’s stable and basically unsinkable, whereas the Optimist dinghy capsizes easily.
“It’s hard to right the Optimist,” I remind him.
Riley’s quick to protest. “I can handle it.”
I study him for a moment. He looks back hopefully, shoving his blond shoulder-length surfer-boy hair behind his ear.
I shake my head. “No. You can’t. Not yet. But soon.”
“I’m telling Evan,” he threatens with an evil grin. “I’ll turn on the waterworks and cry about how sad I am that my Big Brother’s best friend is depriving me of my dream of racing on an Optimist.”
I respond with a loud snort. The kid’s got balls, I’ll give him that. Riley is the product of the soul-searching journey of reformation Evan decided to embark on a while ago. In other words, Evan needed to prove to Genevieve he was willing to stop being a boozing, brawling jackass and grow the fuck up. One way he did that was by enrolling in the local Big Brother program. He totally lucked out with Riley, who’s a great kid.
“All right,” I tell him. “Next lesson, we’ll practice positioning at different angles, teach you some racing tactics. There’re a couple different strategies you can use when rounding marks. And the next race you enter, don’t partner with Evan. He’s lousy.”
Riley hoots. “No shit.”
“If you’re doing a double-handed race and need a partner, hit me up. I mean it—drop the zero and get with the hero.” I wink at him.
I don’t offer myself up like that to just anyone, but I like Riley. I like his enthusiasm. A lot of these kids who take dinghy lessons just want to go fast on the water. They don’t want to think too deeply about the ins and outs of sailing. But Riley’s different. He’s thirsty for knowledge.
I clap him on the back. My favorite part of this job is working with the kids. The teens. Adults are fun too, but their eyes don’t light up the same way.
“I’ll see you next week.”
“Cool. Later, Tate.”
He dashes off, and I head back in the direction from which we came to double-check the boat is securely moored, as the wind’s still blowing hard. Sometimes it sucks working on other people’s boats; I’m always scared I’ll fuck something up and be on the hook for it.
In the yacht club’s employee quarters, I strip out of my damp uniform and change into my street clothes. A few minutes later, I cross the parking lot toward my Jeep, checking my phone while I walk. I find a couple messages from the twins. And one from Cassie.
Cassie: You, me, a bed covered in rose petals, and my virginity on a silver platter?
I bust out laughing. I swear, this chick … Since the night we agreed to the fling, she’s been persistently trying to get me to bang her.
Me: No.
She instantly replies.
Cassie: You’re mean.
Me: Just taking it slow. Window time later?
Cassie: Can’t. You took too long to reply to my message, so I made plans with Joy. We’re going to see a band at the Rip Tide. It’ll probably be past your bedtime when I’m back.
Me: Text me anyway. Maybe I’ll still be up.
Cassie: Only if you take the V-card.
Me: Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a one-track mind, ginger?
Cassie: Anyone ever tell you you’re a tease?
Me: Who’s teasing? I’m pretty sure I made you come twice last night.
Cassie: I was faking it, Gate.
I grin at the phone and toss it on the passenger seat, then start the car. I can’t believe I’m the one depriving someone of sex. Me, of all people. But despite Cassie’s insistence that we don’t need to make a big deal out of it, I feel like I should do something for her first time. Something special. Maybe not rose petals, but certainly not a quick bang while her family is right down the hall. That just feels wrong. It’s all I would’ve been able to offer her this week, though. I’ve had early mornings, a packed sailing schedule, and late shifts at the dealership. Which means I’m always exhausted by the time I scale her wall and tumble through her window for an hour or so of mutual orgasms. Exhaustion is not conducive to good sex, and since I’m determined to make sure her first time is beyond good, I’ve been trying to stall her until the weekend.