“Is it that bad?”
“Doubt the other guys can tell, but I know what you’re doing.”
“Why does half her ass have to be out? Her brother is here; doesn’t she care about that? Look at Milly, she’s wearing a respectable one-piece.” She’s the only one wearing a one-piece.
Carson quietly chuckles. “Clearly you haven’t truly looked at your sister if you think her one-piece is respectable. The damn thing is all cut up in the front, she is practically naked.”
“What?” My scowl deepens. “Do I need to talk to her about modesty?”
That makes Carson throw his head back this time, his laugh grabbing everyone’s attention. He shakes his head and says, “Talk to her about modesty, and I go over to Natalie right now to let the cat out of the bag. I love seeing my wife confident in her body and showing it off.”
Grumbling, I say, “Fine.” Although it does make me wonder. Is Natalie confident in her body? Some women flaunt every bit of skin they can because they’re desperate for attention. But Natalie simply looks comfortable. Natural. And hopefully, that means she’s confident too. She should be. She’s fucking hot.
The boat slows as we approach an island in the middle of the crystal-blue ocean. It’s not very big at all and it’s covered in vegetation, but apparently underneath where we’re floating is the true show. Buck Island was named a national monument in 1948 to preserve the magnificent coral reefs. Over eighteen hundred acres of protected sea life rests beneath us, and it has one of three underwater trails in the United States, making it a popular tourist attraction in St. Croix.
And yet, as the captain is getting us ready, all I can think about is Natalie and how the life vest she’s wearing is propping her tits up into her neck.
“Everyone is suited up. Do we all remember our snorkeling instructions?” the captain asks, nodding his head, encouraging us to do the same. “Let’s take a group picture quickly and then find your partner; we’re keeping this a buddy system.”
Of course. Because why wouldn’t we?
We all get together on the boat, wave our arms in excitement with Buck Island in the background, and take a picture. Then, just as I thought, the couples snuggle up to each other leaving Natalie and me to partner up.
Tacking on a smile, I walk up to her and say, “Care to be my partner?”
Her easy demeanor while hanging out with the girls on the front of the boat quickly disappears as she looks up at me. Our snorkeling gear is in our hands, and there’s a good two feet of distance between us. “I can partner up with the instructor if that’s easier,” she says with little to no life in her voice.
She’s not subdued or even submissive at this point. It’s as if life was knocked out of her, or at least when I’m around, which makes me feel fucking “great.” Insert a sarcastic thumbs up here.
Sighing, I push my hand through my hair and bend so she has to look me in the eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry about what I said at the restaurant. I was trying to make a joke and it came off all wrong.” I tip her chin up, careful not to be too intimate. When her eyes connect with mine, I feel the air seep from my lungs, as if there’s a hole somewhere, leaking everything out. Fuck, she’s so goddamn beautiful. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I would love nothing more than to partner with you.”
She nods, but it’s a lackluster nod, which makes me wonder, is she one of those people who needs time before they’re back to normal?
Knox and Emory are the first in the water, followed by Carson and Milly, Dottie and Jason, and then we’re up next. Everyone jumped in the water holding hands while doing some stupid noise so I figured, why not us too? I go to reach for her hand to bridge the gap between us but before I can make contact, she pencil jumps into the water without me.
Ohh-kay.
Still upset.
Noted.
* * *
Something you forget while snorkeling is there’s no way for you to communicate to your “partner” other than using hand motions, you know, because your mouth is suctioned around a tube that helps you breathe.
It’s rewarding, because it’s so silent and beautiful, but when you see something exciting to show your partner, you end up flailing around in the water like an idiot trying to get their attention.
At least, that’s what I did at first because Natalie refused to be close to me. Her buddy system protocol needs some work. But that ended after the first ten minutes, because I was over the flailing. So I swam closer to her, took her hand in mine, and didn’t let go. She was very hesitant at first, actually thrashed a bit, demanding to be released, but I didn’t let up. Together we had to figure out how to swim and enjoy the experience without getting sucked up by the ocean.
And it was beautiful—once she calmed down. Blue tangs swam around us as we traversed the underwater trail, taking in the large, untouched reefs, the water so clear we can see many tiny fish living their life amongst the brightly colored coral. It was unlike anything I had ever seen and once we hit the end of the trail, we were shocked to be greeted by a sea turtle, gracefully floating with the waves.
To say it was magical is an understatement. But that magic was broken when we surfaced, as Natalie let go of my hand, and then swam to the boat, leaving me to float on my own.
Well, at least it’s peaceful out here. Instead of heading to the boat right away, I hang out in the water, letting the waves rock me up and down. I take in the scenery, the way the blue of the sky differs from the blue of the ocean. The water is more aquamarine compared to the royal blue of the sky. There are few clouds, so the sun shines brightly on my torso, heating it, only for the water in return to cool it.
Beautiful fucking day.
These are the moments I savor. Peaceful, relaxing, away from the grind of playing game after game, season after season. Weight rooms, batting cages, training rooms . . . it’s all a distant memory as I float, the waves lapping gently against my life vest. When we get back, we’ll only have a short amount of time before we report to spring training, and those weeks will be spent preparing my body for the rigorous upcoming schedule. These days in St. Croix are really the last days I have before work starts up again and instead of letting myself truly enjoy them, I’m trying to get in the head of the girl who has captured my attention.
I splash some water on my face and sigh. Fuck. I should just let her be mad at me. Then I could possibly try to forget these weird feelings I have rolling around in the pit of my stomach. But I’ve never been that guy, the dick, the asshole, the . . . rebel. I care too much about the people around me to treat them with anything less than the respect they deserve.
It’s why I find myself swimming over to the boat, climbing on board, and shucking my gear quickly so I can find Natalie. The other couples are still looking around, their heads popping in and out of the water, their excited expressions giving me joy, especially Milly’s.
One of the attendants hands me a towel, which I thank them for, and then head to the top of the party boat where I know there are snacks and drinks, hoping to find Natalie. When I reach the top, I instantly spot her, sitting at the curve of the table, surrounded by food, her sunglasses perched on her nose and her gaze set out over the ocean, her fist propping up her chin.
I take a moment to observe her and the serenity of her mood. She looks calm, collected, unlike the scowl-wearing snorkeler she was a few short minutes ago. Should I disturb her? It looks like she’s found some peace, but then again, we still have a lot of time on this boat, we’re alone, and I need to clear this up once and for all.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask, taking a seat across from her.
She doesn’t move. “One of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
I can think of something more beautiful.
Clearing my throat, I pick up a piece of shrimp from the ice it’s on, dip it in some cocktail sauce, and then say, “So you’re mad at me. I get it.”
She shakes her head, shocking me when she turns to face me. “I’m not mad
at you, Cory.”
“Uh-huh,” I say with sarcasm. “Okay, I grew up with a sister who was terrible at expressing her feelings.” I motion at Natalie with my finger. “The body language you’re sending into the universe is telling me another story.”
Sighing, she flips her sunglasses up on her head so I can see those expressive eyes of hers. “I’m not mad, I’m just . . . trying to give you space.” Give me space?
“By not talking to me?” I call her out, never one to beat around the bush.
“I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated to hang out with me because everyone else is attached. This is your vacation before the season starts. The next eight months are going to be grueling. I want you to enjoy this time, not feel obligated to talk to me.”
My brow pinches together. “I don’t feel obligated to talk to you. I talk to you because I want to.”
“You know what I mean, Cory. I don’t want to come off as clingy, you know? I’m giving you space, that’s all.”
“Okay.” I pick up another shrimp, dip it, and chew. “I appreciate that, but we’re also sharing a room, so we’re bound to have to talk to each other. Might as well make the most of it.”
“I know.” She nibbles on her bottom lip and picks up a piece of a carrot. “But I don’t want to be that little sister, the one who clings to her brother’s friends, only for them to feel like they have to hang out with me because my brother is their friend, or teammate. I’m really conscious of that, especially growing up with Jason. Your comment at breakfast, although not meant to be mean-spirited, reminded me of who I tried to avoid being growing up.” She takes a bite of the carrot and says, “I just want to make sure you have a nice time and don’t feel like you weren’t able to relax because of me.” She picks up her La Croix for a sip. “And trust me, I went to the front desk today and asked if any rooms have become available. Still nothing. They assured me, nothing would during our stay. So you’re stuck with me unfortunately.”
“I don’t think that’s unfortunate,” I say, letting the words slip out before I can stop them. “I mean, could be worse, right?” I try to laugh it off, but I’m sounding awkward as fuck.
A little smirk passes over her lips and for the first time since this morning, I feel a wave of relief. That smirk was all I needed to relax, to know it will be okay, that I don’t need to hold my breath any longer.
“How do you think it could be worse? Hypothetically, give me a way it could be worse.”
“Sure.” I reach out and snag a BBQ chicken slider and put it on a small plate. “You could be an ex that I couldn’t stand and we’d be sharing a hotel room.”
She slowly nods, lips pursed. “Yeah, that could be worse. Couldn’t imagine what it would be like if you were Ansel, my ex-husband. Talk about awkward. Give me another scenario of how this could be worse.”
I bite into the slider and chew, thinking. “You could be a super fan. Taking pictures of me while I’m sleeping, sneak into the bathroom while I’m showering, stealing my underwear to sell on Facebook Market when you get home.”
She chokes on her laughter, coughing for a few seconds. “Why did you say Facebook Market, not eBay?”
I shrug, chuckling lightly. “Is eBay even a thing anymore?”
“It’s very much alive. I just bought a pair of Justin Timberlake’s underwear off there.”
“Frame them in a shadow box?”
Giving a disgusted face, she shakes her head. “Are you insane? His penis essence is on those, so they sleep with me every night. Brought them with me on the trip. You can take a turn with them tonight if you want.”
“Now I’m starting to fear you’re not kidding.”
Her head falls back as she laughs wholeheartedly. When she straightens up, she asks, “Are you going to peek at my pillow tonight?”
“I mean . . . if I hear you inhaling heavily into your pillow, I’ll know the truth.”
“You’re just going to have to find out later tonight.”
“Something to look forward to.” I smile and then ask, “Are we cool, Natalie? I mean, really cool?”
She tilts her head to the side and thoughtfully says, “Yeah, we’re cool, Cory.”
A thrill of excitement bolts up my spine from the sound of my name softly rolling off her tongue, as if she’s said it, screamed it a few times in the bedroom, my hips pulsing in and out of her. It was sultry but not in an obvious way, more in a natural tone that she uses when she’s happy.
And she’s happy right now.
Trying not to look too fucking giddy over her saying my name, I say, “So for the rest of the trip, can we treat it as if we’re best friends on vacation? No more awkwardness? We’re going to be coupled up no matter what, so we might as well make the most of it, yeah?”
“Are you . . .” She pauses, hand to heart. “Cory Potter, are you proposing a friend-trip with me?”
I shouldn’t be surprised she has a flair for dramatics like her brother, I’d be surprised if she didn’t. How similar she is to Jason, is cute, but she’s also very different—thank God.
“Would you be opposed to a friend-trip?”
She lifts her drink and takes a sip before carefully setting it back down, her eyes never leaving mine. “Well, I don’t know much about you, Cory Potter. How could we call it a friend-trip if I don’t know much about you?”
“That’s why a friend-trip is in order, so we can get to know each other and then be the best friends there are.”
“I don’t know.” She cringes. “Friends with a Rebel? I’m not sure I can—”
“Your brother is a Rebel,” I remind her, making whatever she’s about to say, moot.
“I have no choice with him, he’s blood. I have a choice with you.”
Huh, okay, never mind on the whole moot thing.
“Are you saying I’m going to have to woo you for your friendship?”
“Wouldn’t hurt you to do so.” She smiles and bites into a carrot.
“What if I think it’s too much trouble?”
She shrugs. “Your loss, because I can make some really good chocolate chip cookies.”
I pretend to mull it over, giving it serious thought. Honestly, I’d do pretty much anything at this point to keep her smile in my life, but I can’t give that away. “Do these chocolate chip cookies have sprinkles in them?”
“That can be arranged.”
“Then I think you have yourself a friend-trip.”
Smirking, she says, “Prepare your heart, because I’m about to rock your world with my friendship skills.”
Hell, if only I knew I should have prepared my heart the day of the fundraiser.
Chapter Ten
NATALIE
I stare at myself in the mirror stuck to the tiny bathroom in the party boat. Cheeks flushed, neck and chest flushed, nipples impossibly hard, and hair kissed with natural beach waves.
I look like I was just masterfully fucked.
And maybe I kind of was, but not in the way I’m sure every woman in the vicinity of Cory Potter wishes.
After I left breakfast, I reminded myself that I wasn’t going to be clingy, that I was going to give Cory space, time to enjoy his vacation without a tag-a-long trailing behind him. The last thing I want is for Cory to feel like he needs to spend time with me because I’m Jason’s sister.
I learned in high school that no one wants the annoying little sister trailing along behind them. Kent Germain was very thoughtful in pointing that out to me one fateful Friday night when I was getting ready to go hang out with Jason and his friends at Navy Pier. I overheard Kent telling Jimmy how annoying it was having me around all the time and how Jason told Kent he would never exclude me. Made me love my brother even more, but it also made me think about my actions. I’ve carried that thought process with me and after this morning, it hit me . . . is that what I was doing? Tagging along again?
Probably.
But I know Jason would never think about it that way. He was the one who encour
aged me to come, to help me clear my mind and now that Dottie is my friend as well, it felt like I was joining everyone on equal terms. The conversation with Cory this morning struck a nerve—one I thought I’d completely buried—and it’s why I freaked out. Why I felt sour the entire snorkeling trip, and why it took a shirtless All-Star first baseman to get me out of my funk.
Shirtless.
Full-on bare torso.
Nipples, abs, that V thing in the pelvis, it was all there, and oh God, did it make me break out with sweat on my upper lip.
How I contained my composure during our friend-trip conversation, I have no idea, but watching him sit across from me, arm draped over the back of the bench seat, casually eating shrimp as if it’s an everyday activity for him . . . Hell, I had a really hard time not staring.
It’s why I stayed at the front of the boat in the beginning, looking toward the ocean, because I knew at some point the tank top he was wearing that showed off his perfectly sculpted shoulders would be coming off and I’d catch a glimpse of what the man looked like under the uniform.
He did not disappoint.
Dare I say, it was almost Adonis like? We’re talking thick pecs with perfectly proportioned nipples, flat and tight from the breeze. Zero chest hair. None, zilch, all smooth skin. Abs. Boy, does he have abs. Divots in his stomach, perfectly defined divots that were begging, practically barking at me to touch them. And then the taper of his waist, the sculpted path in his hips, the flat base of his waistline that barely filled out his trunks, making me wonder if they were yanked, would his trunks fall completely off, exposing the goods? I would be the first to clap and cheer for that to happen.
Halfway through our conversation, I realized, I’m a horndog.
I was ogling the poor man while he was trying to make amends. He was blissfully unaware of how I acted like I was looking off to the side, but when I lowered my sunglasses back down, I was searching every last inch of his freshly tanned skin.
The Trade Page 12