Hannsett Island isn’t big. You can get around it entirely by bike or—if you’re Jason King—by golf cart. Beyond the marina, there’s the main town which is comprised of one long street. On it—a grocers, a book store, an ice cream shop, and a handful of boutique clothing stores, not to mention the required shop for swimwear and pool toys.
Four lives on the north side of the island, where there are resort houses and summer rentals that are identical save the bright colors. Pelican pink, sunflower yellow, lime green.
With the summer winding to a close and no movement from the waitlist on Berklee College, Pearl has decided I need to come up with a “backup plan.” She also figured out that the only way to get me to accomplish said backup plan is to trap me in the house and inform me that I can’t go to the marina until I’ve come up with a plan.
Which is how I end up on house arrest in August. Staring moodily at the desktop computer Four let me cart into my bedroom. So far, my options are limited:
On Craigslist, there’s an ad for an assistant at a record store. The ad specifically requests a female, 18-25, picture required with submission of resume.
Double ugh.
I keep clicking. There’s an internship for a PR assistant for a musical group in England, but what are my chances of getting that?
I’m calculating how much of my soul to sell to get Pearl off my back when I hear: “Kenzi!”
It’s strange. It’s Jason’s voice, but it sounds nearby. I open my bedroom door, but I don’t see anyone.
“Kenzi! Over here!”
I turn around and yelp when I see him. My room is on the second floor, and Jason is in the window. He’s grinning like an idiot, perched on the tree branch like a goddamn monkey.
I open my window, a smile I can’t help plastered on my face. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Busting you out, obviously.”
“Is Donovan here?”
Jason points down. Donovan stands at the bottom of the tree, his hands in his pockets.
“I don’t have a death wish,” Donovan says.
God, my boys are a sight for sore eyes.
“Alright,” I say, “scoot over.”
Jason reaches out and takes my hand. Carefully, I climb out the window and follow him onto the tree branch. Jason’s strong arm winds around me and I don’t worry about falling, not when I’m in his grip. We shimmy from branch to branch and Donovan reaches up to help us down one by one.
“Nice getaway car,” I say as I hop off the tree, brushing myself off.
The golf cart sits on Four’s back lawn.
“We work with what we’ve got,” Donovan says. He then climbs in the driver’s seat.
“Wait, Donovan is driving?” I ask as I climb in the back. Jason piles in beside me, his long limbs squished in the tight space.
“I had the same thought,” Jason says. “I felt safer in the tree.”
“I can drive just fine,” Donovan says, and the car lurches forward unconvincingly. I grip the side to stay in place.
“Where are we going?”
“Where aren’t we going?” Jason answers mysteriously. He has a cat that swallowed the canary smile—like he has some big, Mona Lisa secret he can’t wait to share with us.
I’ll admit it: my crush on Jason has only gotten worse the more we hang out. How couldn’t I? He’s a beautiful boy, with linebacker shoulders, a disarming smile, and he’s taller than most of the adults I know. His dark hair blows in the wind as we start down the road and I itch to run my fingers through it and mess it up.
His arm brushes against mine as we bounce down the road, those fine hairs tickling, and it makes me shiver. Donovan glances behind him and I must have drool on the corner of my mouth because he rolls his eyes at me.
Donovan is beautiful in a different way—quiet, brooding boy with sharp features and intense dark eyes.
It’s strange to me that I found myself attached to these two boys all summer. Stranger still that, once September rolls around, I’m going to go back home to Queens and I won’t get to see them every second of every day anymore.
“We’re here,” Donovan announces as he pulls the golf cart off the road and into a parking lot behind a giant warehouse.
I ask. “And here is…?”
“Boat graveyard,” Jason replies.
We get out and follow Donovan around the side of the building. Sure enough, on the other side, it’s a boat yard.
If you’ve never seen a boat out of water, it’s a bizarre sight. Like a giant whale on display. There’s a huge metal frame on wheels at the edge of the water with a long double sling in it, which, I imagine, is how they scoop the boats onto dry land.
Donovan winds us through the yard with purpose and then comes to stop in front of one. “Check this one out,” he says.
The sailboat in question is hoisted up on these metal stands that do not look like it should be able to hold it up in place. The keel—which is boat-term for the big fin at the bottom of the boat, I’ve learned—makes it look twice as big. The sail is wrapped up in a shabby cloth, and the boat itself looks pretty beat up. There are more than a couple dents in it, holes in the sides, and damage to the windows.
It’s not surprise that it’s out of the water, getting repairs.
Sorry, she. Donovan corrected me about that once. All boats are shes.
“What happened to it?” I ask. I feel oddly sorry for the thing. It’s like witnessing a dog tied to a pole with a too-small collar. Neglect looks ugly, even if the item in question has no feelings.
Still. I may never be a skipper, but this summer has certainly taught me one thing: boats have souls. Even damaged ones like this.
Especially the damaged ones, if you ask me.
“It’s abandoned,” Donovan responds. “Come on.”
Then he grabs the ladder, which is at least a solid three feet off the ground, and hoists himself up.
“Wait…we’re going inside? This feels a little like breaking and entering.”
“You won’t get in trouble,” he reassures me. “I promise.”
I frown at the thin metal stand keeping the boat propped up. Logically, I know I’m not going to topple over a thirty-foot sailboat. But the nagging parts of my anxiety are dubious.
Jason helps me up the ladder and Donovan helps me into the boat. But when I climb onto the landing, my converses slip on the damp boards. Jason catches my arm, saving me from a tumble off the side of the boat and onto the gravel below. For a second, my body brushes against his, and I feel his hard-muscled chest underneath the thin layer of cotton.
“Careful, Trouble.” He grins at me.
“Thanks,” I reply. Hating how breathless and girly my voice sounds.
We climb aboard and Donovan pushes open the latch so we can go below deck. It’s dim inside and I can only make out shadows and shapes.
“There’s no electricity,” Donovan explains, “but we’ve got this.”
He lights a match, and, seconds later, ignites a brass gas lantern that hangs from the ceiling. Now, I can see the ship in all of its glory.
It’s old—that’s obvious. The walls are lined with wood and there are patches where the wood has been punched out. It’s been mostly emptied out, nothing on the shelves but a couple of books. There are a couple old school touches—the gas lantern, navigation table with an old water-stained map on it, and some kind of compass that looks like it came from a different era. In short, everything that appeals to my anachronist heart. The upholstery looks newer than the rest of it, though, dark cushions that line the benches.
“Whose boat is this?” Jason asks.
Donovan sits down and, with a flick of his wrist, the match goes out. “Mine.”
“What?”
“It was abandoned on one of the mooring balls. The original owner was a patient at the medical center who took a turn for the worst. The family didn’t want it, so they handed it over to my dad. Dad said if I can patch up the holes and get it back into shape, I can have it.”
“So you’re going to…what. Sail the coast?”
“Maybe.”
“What about college?” Jason asks.
Donovan shrugs. “Scholarship money didn’t come through. So. I’ll just have to try next year.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, man.”
“It is what it is.”
An uncomfortable silence washes over us. It’s easy to forget that we all come from different worlds. I can take a year off knowing full well that, when I’m ready, Pearl and one of her husbands will take care of all my expenses. Jason doesn’t have to think twice about admission—he’s guaranteed a spot.
Donovan isn’t afforded the same luxuries. It’s a sharp reminder.
“You need a first mate?” I ask, steering the topic away.
There’s a hint of amusement in Donovan’s eyes at that. “Yeah, maybe. You want to spend your gap year here?”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say. But my grin stretches too wide across my face and gives me away. I can’t think of anything better than spending the winter with Donovan—no parents, no rules. Just the water and us, doing whatever the hell we want to do.
“What are you going to call her?” Jason asks.
“What do you mean?”
“The boat? She needs a name.”
“I haven’t thought about it.”
I gasp. “That’s all I would think about! Okay. Emergency brainstorm time.”
Donovan suggests: The TARDIS, Muskrat King, and Fuck You I Own A Boat.
Jason suggests: Nightrider, Skipper Syndrome, and Captain Emo.
I give my suggestion, but Donovan furrows his brow. “Dock Boy?” he repeats.
“No, Dock Buoy. B-U-O-Y. It’s a pun.”
They both think about it for a second too long before they burst into laughter. “Yeah,” Jason says. “That’s definitely the winner.”
“So what do you do for fun on a boat with no electricity?” I ask.
Donovan opens up the navigation table and pulls out a deck of cards, tossing it onto the table. “Name the game.”
“Poker,” I say.
“I heard strip poker,” Jason counters as he starts to shuffle. “Who else did?”
“I’m game,” I grin.
“Deal us in,” Donovan says, completing our circle.
As it turns out, Donovan and I suck at poker.
Jason and I have a spark, but Donovan and I share a soul—we have a whole language of eyebrow twitches, squints, and slightly upturned lips. I can read him like a book, and he can read me. Which makes neither of us very good at bluffing each other.
Donovan and I both get down to our underwear. When I have to take off my bra, Donovan gives me a blanket to cover myself with—which Jason says is cheating—but that’s too bad. Meanwhile, Jason has only lost a pair of socks.
Donovan folds and I, finally, manage to get one over on Jason. “Read it and weep,” I tell him, putting down three-of-a-kind.
“Alright, Trouble, you’ve got me.” He reaches behind and yanks his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side.
And just—ouch. He’s so hot it’s physically painful. He’s got that broad, linebacker’s chest, sculpted, and strong. I squeeze my thighs a little tighter to relieve the pulsing presser and turn my attention to shuffling cards instead.
“Uh—yep. That’ll do.”
Donovan gives me a look. He doesn’t have to say anything—we speak without words, and right now, he’s saying: you’re shameless, Kenzi.
Yeah, yeah. I know. But I’m eighteen and a virgin and this is as close as a soft-bellied, splotchy-faced girl like me is going to get to the sun, so he can put up with it for a night.
We go another round, but this time, my luck has turned. I grumble as I turn over my cards—a high seven—and Donovan bursts into laughter.
“Your tell is so bad!” he says.
I scoff. “What tell?”
“You touch your earlobe,” he says and then does it, rubbing his ear between his thumb and finger. “Every time you lie.”
“Ugh. You two suck.” Which is about when I realize: I’m out of clothes to take off. All I have are my panties.
“You don’t have to take them off,” Donovan says, reading my mind. I hear the concern in his voice—he doesn’t want me to feel pressured to strip in front of them.
And this is one of those decisions, right?
Go the safe route. The predictable route. End the game, go home to Pearl and Four, and eventually leave Hannsett Island completely. Maybe forever, if Pearl and Four get divorced before summer comes back around, which is a high probability.
And even if they don’t? Jason is going to college. Donovan and his ship are going who-knows-where. I may never see them again.
I make a decision. I shrug, playing it cool. “Rules are rules.”
Then I remove the blanket, stand from the bench, and move my hands to the band of my panties.
“Wait,” Jason says. Then he crooks his finger. “Come here. A woman should never have to take off her own panties.”
I’m surprised by my own brazenness as I stride forward and stand in front of him. Jason looks up at me and…something shifts in those blue eyes. He looks like he wants to devour me. His hands slip up my legs and he hooks two fingers underneath the sides of my panties. He doesn’t pull them down right away, though—instead, with his eyes still locked on mine, he gently kisses my thigh.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
My throat is so dry with want, I almost don’t have the ability to conjure up words. Finally, I clear my throat and nod. “Yes.”
Jason rolls my panties down my legs. I should feel exposed or shy, but I don’t.
I feel like—maybe for the first time—I’m completely in control.
I straddle Jason’s lap and push my lips against his. He makes a small noise against my mouth, but then I feel his tongue probing, tasting me. His hands slide up my thighs, holding me tightly against him. I can feel the hardness of his denim jeans. The heat of his kiss.
“Well,” Donovan’s voice filters through. “That’s my cue.”
He stands, grabs his clothes, and tosses his shirt back on. But then Jason surprises us both. He grabs Donovan’s wrist before he can leave, holding him in place, and says, “Or you can stay.”
Donovan glances over at me, his dark eyes inquisitive.
I agree with, “Stay. Please?”
Donovan worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Alright,” he finally says and then sits back down. His pants are still lumped in a pile in his hands and he puts them aside on the table.
Jason nods to where Donovan is sitting. “Why don’t you go lay down beside him?”
I do. I stretch out on my back on the cushioned bench, my head on Donovan’s thigh. He draws his fingers through my hair instinctively and I reach for his arm. I pull his hand in close and kiss that leather bracelet he always wears, then I kiss his palm. His eyes meet mine and they’re full of affection.
Jason stands over me. He sheds his clothes. I can see the excitement in his electric blues, the hunger. It makes my blood hot. “Have you done this before?” he asks.
“What,” I reply, “Have I been torn up by two dudes at once?”
I’m nervous as hell and my sense of humor is dark and strange.
“I mean…are you a virgin?”
“Uh…yeah. Is that okay?”
“If it’s good by you, it’s good by me.”
“Hey.” Donovan gets my attention now. He cups my face, tilts my chin look at him. He’s always had the most intense, striking dark eyes, and now I find myself swallowed up in them. Tenderly, his thumb strokes my cheek. “If you want this to stop,” he says—and he’s using his best friend voice now, “at any point. Just say the word. Okay?”
I nod. “I know.” I reach out and cup the back of his neck, petting his hair—I adore this man. And I know it’s weird—I know this is insane and not at all how I pictured it would go—but I’m suddenly so grateful to have my best friend here for my first time. He’ll protect me. No matter what. I feel utterly safe and warm with him here.
Jason climbs on top of me and—God. His body is beautiful. The light from the lantern casts a sheen of gold over his taut muscles.
I touch his jaw and draw him in, kissing him deeply. I’ve decided I love the way Jason kisses me. There’s nothing uncertain about it—he swoops his tongue in my mouth, tasting me deeply, boldly. He devours me completely and I succumb to him.
When Jason enters me, there’s a pinch, and I whimper. I must shed a tear or two because Donovan strokes my cheek, runs his fingers through my hair, and asks me if I’m okay.
“I’m okay,” I’m murmur, “keep going. Please.”
Jason is gentle, slow, deliberate. The burst of pain fizzles into something bearable, and then something enjoyable, and then something so goddamn good I have to bite my bottom lip to keep myself from screaming.
Jason is the ocean. He rolls over me in waves, swooping, crashing.
Donovan is the moon. He pulls me, guides me, orbits me.
The three of us together are lips and tongues and squeezed fingers and heat. The air is dense with the smell of old wood—like the bottom of a cork in a wine bottle—and the musk of our own sweat and arousal.
Jason’s lips tickle my throat as he moves over me. He tells me that I’m beautiful. He tells me that I’m so fucking beautiful. I feel a heat rise through me, making me blush. My throat gets tight and I feel my toes curl.
On instinct, I reach out and find Donovan’s hand.
