There are two sails on the Jenny Sue, a mainsail which rises up the center mast of the boat and a smaller triangular sail that is stationary off the front of the bow. He helps me release the sails, and they whip as they spread until they are caught by the wind. The boat picks up speed as the sails catch. I am glowing, warm with his attention, as the breeze rushes through my hair. I follow him back down to the wheel that steers the rudder, and he stands behind me, placing my hands on the smooth wood, which is much loved, much touched, much caressed. The rocking is more of a roll than a rock. His chest brushers against my shoulders, and I press against him.
“You’re sailing.” His voice whispers along my ear, his lips brushing against it. His arms fold around me, and seconds slip into minutes. His hands are never far, his body is never far, his lips are never far.
This glorious life!
Cici and David have raided the liquor cabinet in the cabin and were working their way through tequila shots. Trey is as uninterested in the alcohol as I am. While Cici and David shoot through a bottle Trey, and I don’t even try to keep up.
“Not much of a drinker?” I ask when he declines the bottle.
“Not much. I mean, it’s okay, you know, but I don’t like to be drunk.”
“Same.” He is behind me, folded around me, tracing his finger along the small rise of veins in my forearm, sending small vibrations through my body.
David weaves past with a beer from the cooler, his cheeks red in a paint-blob splotch while the rest of his face is porcelain white under his tan.
We watch him go, and Trey leans in close, whispering, “He’s gonna be sick.” David, waves in our general direction, bleary-eyed as he bumps against the stairwell on his way down to the bathroom.
“Yeah, he is,” I agree, and we laugh in a comfortable way—at somebody else doing something stupid, somebody else’s stupid-human trick.
“I hate to throw up,” he admits. “I’ll do almost anything not to be sick.” A shiver runs through him, and I laugh, folding my fingers through his.
“Same here. I hate feeling out of control.” I sense him looking at me for a long minute before I turn to face him.
“I’d kinda like to see you lose control.” His voice is husky, and I blush because he is not talking about the effects of alcohol.
“Hmm.” He is so close, his lips are just at my eyes, and I feel my own tongue reaching out, licking across my bottom lip. We shift, his lips soft on mine. All the muscles in my heart relax, and my shoulders drop, and I turn toward him until I can put my arms around him. He is so familiar and so foreign at the same time. He is Dylan but not Dylan, and he is Warren but not Warren. We have all the heat and chemistry from the night I tried to seduce Dylan, but without any of the guilt. There are all the sparks and electricity of my affair with Warren, who made energy arc through my body like I had touched an electric fence. This kiss has all of those qualities in a muted, more subdued fashion. It feels like Chessa—Dylan’s horse—as crazy as that seems, like the hugs that she gave. It feels safe and warm and comforting.
When I open my eyes, he is not even a breath away. A smile plays across his lips, and I let out a long, low sigh.
“Oh, you are trouble for me,” he says.
He wraps me tighter in his arms, all of his muscles constricting around me. He drops his head to my neck, and my head falls back, exposing my throat. My breath catches at his teeth closing on a small pinch of skin. I’ve blown it. There are no walls, there are no doors, not even a window between the two of us. Only clothes, and too much of those. I want him to make love to me.
My eyes roll across the deck, and I notice what is missing. Cici had been up on the rail last time I noticed her. How long ago? How many lifetimes have passed?
“Where is Cici?” I say, my voice catching. Did David ever come back from the bathroom?
“I don’t know.” But my question finally registers with him, from somewhere off the deck, and eyes swivel away from me. He scans the deck, but the rail where Cici had been is empty.
“Did she go downstairs?” he asks. I don’t know, and I rise to my feet. The boat is not big, and there is no place she could be on deck where we wouldn’t see her.
We are at the rail, looking into the water for her, panic rising inside me. It happened in a split second. Is that what Dylan’s dad thought when Daecus went overboard?
“Oh no,” I say, the full dawning of realization hitting me. “Cici!” I scream out into the water, and Trey is dropping the sails. The motion of the boat slows to rocking up and down. A cold sweat breaks out across my lip and along my hairline, my vision narrowing to a pinprick.
“Shhh,” Trey says, and I hadn’t realized that I was moaning, or sobbing, or something between those two. He puts his finger to my lips, and I look at him, my eyes wide, hearing finally what he has heard.
“Ah, ah, ah . . .” The rhythm of sex echoes up the stairwell, to the deck, and over the water.
“Oh, ” I say, relieved when I understand what I am hearing, and we laugh because we both thought she had gone over the edge when we weren’t paying attention, when we were too focused on each other to be aware.
He takes a quick step and leans into the cabin, coming back with a smirk still on his face, shaking his head.
“You,” he says, drawing me into his arms, “are worse than alcohol.” We kiss holding each other with almost frantic need. Cici is safe, and no harm has come to anyone.
“Me?” I ask, between kisses, coy, flirtatious.
“Yeah, but I don’t think I can do without you.” His words come from low in his throat. They feel like a pickup line, and I don’t even care.
I sigh and let my head pull back, drawing away. “You can do just fine without me,” I say. His mouth closes on my throat, and somewhere in my heart, my body almost believes it is Dylan, whom I have loved all my life. We can’t get free of our clothes fast enough. When he pulls me down on top of him, rocking with the rhythm of the waves pushing against boat, my voice echoes Cici’s, flying out over the water.
When we again have our suits on, when we have brought our breathing back to something calm and normal, I say, “You are dangerous for me, too.” My voice is quiet, almost a whisper.
“I will never hurt you.” His arms squeeze around me, and I feel his head tilting to look at me. I close my eyes and slide my face into him. “Let’s swim.”
We splash into the cool, clear water, floating away from each other and swimming back. I shouldn’t have had sex with him, probably, not with a sense of calamity averted. We’ve spent three evenings together this week and have been cautious with each other. Until now. He knows I am broken and need to be approached from the side and not directly on.
When we come back to the ladder, Cici is standing at the rail, watching us. Her mascara is smeared, and there is a strange expression on her face.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, but the unfocused look in her eyes is frightening, like she is somebody else.
Trey lets me up the ladder first, his hand holding the sides of the ladder lest I slip. I bite my lip when I realize it; he is protecting me.
I have the most glorious life!
“Join us for dinner.” We have arrived back at the dock, and David has finally come up from below. He and Cici are folded in on each other at the front of the boat, and I am standing in front of Trey at the wheel.
I chuckle, which morphs into a full belly laugh. Then I am caught in the laughter, the image of me and Cici dragging into the yacht club with my cut-offs and her smeared face. Every time I start to explain, I break into a new round of laughter until I have to step away from him to pull myself together.
“We can’t go to the yacht club,” I start, my words punctuated by the uncontrollable laughter. “Have you looked at us?” I indicate the motley crew: David, who is still green around the gills, Cici, smeared and completely sot, me with my wet bathing suit bleeding through my clothes.
My chuckle erupts again, and he joins me, until we are both laughing and unhinged, holding each other to stay upright. I am in so much trouble. It’s been the best day of my life.