The water sucks.
So does sunshine.
Cloudless days. Salty air.
I judge all of it from Healing Touch’s stern.
The sun beats down on me. My uniform shirt is made with thick threads and it’s not long before I’ve got splotchy sweat stains on my pits and my back. I’ve got a jar of polish beside me and a washcloth in hand.
Polishing these monster boats is the worst task in the marina. It’s pure manual labor. No way to speed up the process. Just hours of rubbing hard, clockwise circular motions into the fiberglass, and then repeating the same motion to clean the wax off.
A fucking pain in my ass.
The sound of a familiar voice makes me get to my feet. Across the dock, I see Kenzi on Terry’s boat.
My heart lifts when I see her. Until I realize who she’s talking to.
Jason King grips the mesh on her boat. They’re chatting, leaning close. She’s giggling.
Giggling.
Her eyes flicker upwards and she spots me. She looks guilty suddenly. Like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
I try a wave. She gives me a small smile and waves back. Then she says something else to Jason before turning around and vanishing below deck.
So much for a happy reunion.
My chest is full of thorns when Jason climbs onto the Healing Touch. There’s no way to avoid him—we’re stuck on the same boat together now.
“Sup?” he says.
I don’t answer. I just ask: “How was your date?”
“Well.” Jason stops to think about it, and then says, “Really well, actually.”
My heart is hammering now, my blood charged.
“I guess you got what you wanted, huh?” I say.
Now, Jason shoots me a look. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Not like what?”
He contemplates his answer, then says: “We didn’t have sex.”
If relief were a scent, it would be salt-sweat, thick polish, and the words we didn’t have sex.
Of course she wouldn’t. Kenzi has standards. Principles. Kenzi is better than the likes of Jason King.
“Rejection is a bitch,” I tell him, and try not to sound quite so happy about it.
He’s staring off into the distance, though, with a far away look in his eyes. “She’s different. I think we really made a connection.”
I laugh. It’s the worst sound I’ve ever made—a bitter bark of a noise. “You’ve got to be kidding me. The great Jason King. Felled by a pair of green eyes.”
He shrugs. His non-response is almost worse than anything he could say.
I’ve heard him brag about his conquests. I’ve heard the “locker room” talk.
But he’s buttoning up about Kenzi. He’s respecting her. It’s almost like he’s…
In love.
The thought makes my stomach lurch. This is worse than sex. This is something real. My teeth grind. “You’ve gone soft.”
The edge of his mouth turns. I’ve hit a nerve. “Seems that way,” he says, but his tone is thin. Irritated.
I can’t help it. I provoke the lion. “Funny,” I say. “I figured you’re always hard. Or was that just for me?”
He launches at me and, immediately, I tense. I’ve avoided a lot of bloody noses and black eyes by knowing how to duck before a hit.
But the hit never lands.
I slowly reopen my eyes. Jason’s hand is balled up into a fist, but it’s locked by his side. He looks equally surprised.
Then he exhales. He unclenches his fingers to point at the deck.
“You missed a spot,” he tells me. Then he climbs below deck and vanishes, leaving me there with my adrenaline still surging.
Cleaning the Healing Touch is a two-day job.
The next day, I’m bent over, sweat caking my shirt to my back, when I hear two pairs of feet clomp up the dock and come to a stop beside me.
“Hey. What’s up?”
I glance up and feel my own sweat sting my eyes. Kenzi stands there, in her two-piece bathing suit and a pair of dark sunglasses.
She’s smiling. My initial euphoria at seeing her is dampened by the fact that she’s hanging out with him.
Jason hangs behind her, pool towel over his shoulder.
I frown. “What does it look like? My job.”
“Washing the boat?”
“Polishing.”
“Huh. We were on our way to the pool,” Kenzi says—as though that’s not obvious. “Want to take a break to get wet?”
“Can’t.” I don’t want water. I want to be moody.
Jason leans forward and hangs off the mesh. “Can we help?”
