by Cara Dee
Looking over at the two empty seats by the wheel, he furrowed his brow before facing me once more. "It's on autopilot. I'm going to set the course so I can make us some lunch. I assume you haven't eaten."
"Auto—" I squawked. Very cool of me. "Motherfucker. Autopilots on boats?"
Ellis became impatient. "For chrissakes, Casey, you've been on boats before."
"I don't think cruise ships count," I shot back. Or parties on sailboats that didn’t leave the marina.
If the boat was out on the water, someone was driving it. It was kind of like a rule.
Ellis broke that rule and told me, while failing to hide his aggravation, that he'd give me the ins and outs later. He promised we were safe and that everything was fine. He said if I was overly worried, I could sit by the wheel and make sure we didn’t leave our course while he fixed us something to eat.
I didn’t want to be a bother, so I didn’t mention that we were out on the sea. There weren't any roads or signs to let me know the fucking course. I decided to wing it. It was too late to save my dignity, but dammit, I could keep us alive by making sure we didn’t come too close to land. Funny how that worked. Land was my favorite thing in the world. Now I was going to veer away from it.
*
I didn't touch the wheel even once. Ellis knew exactly what the "road" looked like, and he'd picked a moment where he was confident enough to step away altogether. The autopilot did the work, and I sat there like a schmuck.
"Can I help?" I called down the stairs.
"No, that’s okay," he replied. "It's better you make sure we don't crash and die a fiery death."
"I realize you're mocking me, but—"
"Then let's leave it at that, Casey."
I snapped my mouth shut and ran a hand through my hair, figuring it was best not to push it. He was funny when he was testy, and I had a knack for poking the sleeping bear. Instead, I sat back and twiddled my thumbs, eyes searching for my next distraction.
The yacht's manual would work.
I flipped through the pages and snorted at some of the terms. God forbid we call it bedroom or kitchen. It was VIP Aft Cabin and galley. The lounge area behind me was evidently a saloon, as was the dining area next to the kitchen—'scuse me, galley.
Reading about the hydraulics entertained me. I found such things fascinating, same with the freshwater system. Tapping my cheek absently, I thought of the park I was going to design in Camas, the neighborhood south of Downtown. I'd be on a tight budget, but there was such a thing as saving money by spending a little extra of it. Rainwater harvesting came to mind. The park should be useful. With a filtration and purification system, it would be free drinking water. Or it could generate electricity for what the solar panels wouldn’t cover. A green park, in every way imaginable. I liked this idea. Much to ponder.
The smell of herbs and something fried was followed by Ellis resurfacing from the galley.
"Goodness." I stared at the two plates he carried. I spotted two minor mountains of fries and what looked like strips of fried fish. Lettuce, cucumber, cherry tomatoes, dressing, and ketchup. Yeah, I followed him to the lounge, because hey, the autopilot could drive us. "You make the best kidnapper, Ellis."
He smirked briefly.
I liked him better without shades. Now I could read him easier.
The sofa was huge and the table was low, so I got comfortable and held my plate close instead. Spillage happened to adults, too. I didn’t think Ade would appreciate ketchup on the cream-colored couch. Which was a stupid color for furniture, by the way.
"You can cook." I smiled, adding it to his list. "What else can you do?"
"I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue." He was messin', but I thought that was an impressive skill. A sexy one.
Shit.
A memory from last night came back to me. Did I admit to being infatuated with Ellis?
I winced internally and threw a couple fries into my mouth.
Wrong man to get attached to that way.
It was what it was, though. It would fade.
"Where does one pick up a skill like that?" I asked. "College?"
He nodded, stabbing a piece of fish with his fork. "I was a fun guy once upon a time." He took on a pensive expression. "Perhaps a bit too fun."
"How so?"
He chewed what was in his mouth and reached to grab a remote off the table. My eyebrows shot up as he pressed a button that made the top of the table slide to the side, revealing the inside of the…well, box. It was a giant-ass cooler. "You know of my parents?" He grabbed a bottle of orange juice for himself and a can of Pepsi for me. He knew I liked Pepsi.
I nodded slowly, still stuck on the futuristic fridge. "I've heard stories. Thank you." I accepted the Pepsi.
"I managed to get a full ride through college," he said. "A scholarship was the only way I knew I could escape my folks."
Made sense. His father—Lincoln's dad's brother—was a seemingly normal guy up until he met Ellis's mother. She was… I couldn’t even say religious because there was nothing wrong with that. Being part of a cult, however, was. The stories I'd heard bordered on abuse. Like not letting Ellis have supper until he recited a prayer correctly.
There was an uncomfortable tug in my chest at the thought. I'd known about this for years, yet now, when I was getting know Ellis better, it put things in a new perspective. How the fuck did he stay sane in a home like that? I was glad he'd escaped.
"College must've been liberating." I tipped my head, studying him.
"Indeed. To the point where I almost forgot the part where I was supposed to study." He let out a chuckle and dragged a fry through the pool of dressing. "I partied quite a bit my freshman year."
Understandable. Who wouldn’t? He was finally free. Then he'd gotten his act together, presumably. Otherwise, he wouldn't be sitting here with a couple degrees now.
"Any regrets?" I asked. Because that was really all that mattered, wasn’t it?
"I wouldn’t say regrets." He chose his words carefully. "It's…complicated. I'm not sure how to explain it."
It's complicated.
I grimaced at that. I couldn’t exactly fault him for using the term; I did it plenty myself. Excuse me for not enjoying when others did it.
I ate in silence for a while, unsure of what was okay and not. Respecting his wishes came first, so if he wasn’t in the mood to talk, there was little I could do on the front of learning more and eventually be of help.
"Can I ask you something?" he asked.
"Anything." There was that weird jolt of excitement again. Whenever he initiated conversation, I had half a mind to fist-pump the air.
"What would you say you crave the most in your life?" Jeebus. When he asked, he asked big. I opened my mouth to respond, and he held up a hand. "Not a wisecrack, Casey."
Aw, man. I did crave more of this garlicky dressing, though. That was no wisecrack.
I set down my plate next to me, drawing patterns in the ketchup with a forked piece of cucumber. Flicking my gaze to his plate, I noticed he didn’t have any ketchup. Was that another thing he'd done for me because he knew I liked it?
It was slightly disconcerting to know so little about him and, at the same time, have no clue how much he knew about me.
I slumped my shoulders in defeat. In the end, I wasn’t going to lie. I was an honest man, even when it made me feel ridiculously exposed.
"I crave death to stereotypes," I muttered.
"That was…"
"Not what you expected to hear?" I smiled wryly.
He smiled back and shook his head. "No, not really. Care to elaborate?"
I didn’t mind too much; I just wanted him to open up, as well. "If you go first, Elusive Ellis. What do you crave most of all right now?"
That required some thinking, but he didn’t reject it. Opening his OJ, he took a big swallow from it and then fidgeted with the cap. "In short, connection. Connection and affection."
Ouch.
He pe
ered out the window, a crease forming between his brows. "I remember I used to love simple touches. I think it's from where I derive energy." No wonder he often looked so tired. He was deprived. Something I could relate to. "There was a time Marilyn and I couldn’t keep our hands off one another. It wasn’t even always about sex. Just—that level of closeness. Although…" He furrowed his brow in thought. "I think it was more my thing than hers, to be honest."
I swallowed and nodded with a dip of my chin. I wasn’t hungry anymore, the food—as delicious as it was—sitting like a rock in my stomach.
He kind of nailed it with those words. Connection and affection. It was from others I got energy, too. When I spent too much time alone, I grew frustrated, restless, and moody. Like something was missing.
"Sounds familiar." I cleared my throat and moved the plate to the table. I was done eating.
"About those stereotypes," he hedged carefully.
"Yeah, fuck them." I forced a smile and set down my pop, too. Needing some distance, I scooted back to the corner of the sofa and stretched out my legs. "I never fit into any premade molds, and there's nothing like seeing the moment your date realizes you're not their type."
Shouldn’t that shit stop hurting by now?
This was what I'd planned on blogging about the other day before I'd chickened out. I guess it was one of those subjects that crossed the line for me. Honesty was a must. Complete vulnerability was harder.
"What premade molds do people tend to have you in?" he asked curiously.
"Depends what they know of me beforehand and if it's a man or a woman," I replied. "Most of the time, though, it's that I'm not manly enough." Bitterness crept in.
Ellis seemed confused. "You're joking, right?"
"Nope." This applied to both men and women. Actually, when I dated men, I was either or. Not masculine enough or not feminine enough. After three years of constant dating, it was sort of crushing to never be enough. "People can't place me."
With my criminal history, I was expected to be this badass motherfucker.
I had learned several useful lessons in prison, and none of them involved being able to hold my own. My one strength was that I was fast. I loved running. Going up against someone else in a fist fight, however? No, I'd had Lincoln to protect me. I didn't fight. I fucking hated violence.
Lincoln was released one year before I was, and I spent the following months in and out of hysteria. I turned to self-harm so I could medicate myself halfway into a daze. I closed myself off whenever I could so I wouldn’t fall apart. I wasn’t strong in that sense.
Explaining this shit to Ellis put me on edge, but as always, it was best to get it off my chest. If he found me ridiculous or too weak, he could move on. No time wasted.
"I'm not one of those flamboyant types, either," I went on, tracing an invisible pattern on the sofa. "I like sports, beer, and being in charge." Well…half the time, at least. "Then, I also like a good bargain, Beyoncé, and pleasing the people I love." My brows knitted together, and I trailed off a bit.
Was it that I didn’t take myself seriously? A handful of people I'd dated in the past found it embarrassing when I goofed off in public. For Halloween, one better believe I was in a costume, too. It made the girls smile like loons. I had no issues shaking my ass, being the life of the party, or having fun at my own expense.
When your daughter was your world, it was difficult to care about what happened on the outside. Yet, others seemed to care so fucking much about image and what strangers thought.
Enough, already. Lighten the mood.
I blew out a breath, then mustered a smirk. "It's not easy being someone who burps the alphabet one second then giggles like a schoolgirl the next."
Ellis didn’t buy it. Resting his forearms on his knees, he studied me with an open expression.
I tried again. With a grin that probably came off more self-deprecating than cocky. "I'm complicated."
He shook his head slowly and brushed a hand over his mouth. "You seem perfectly fluid to me."
Yeah…and who the fuck wanted fluid.
Chapter 7
The sun was setting by the time we reached the inlet that led to Port Renfrew. Ellis slowed down, leisurely navigating his way between sailboats and other yachts. A few were even as extravagant as this one.
Boat people had a thing for waving and saying hi. Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling social at the moment. Ellis hid out in the driver's seat, and I lay down on the sunbed. These waters were calm, as was the wind, so I removed my T-shirt and threw it over my head.
Saying hi was one thing, but seriously. When you had to shout at the top of your lungs for a nearby boat to even hear you, what was the point?
The only one I cared to say hi to was Haley. The connection was spotty, so I had to resort to texting Adeline, who responded with a "The girls are having a blast. Love you!"
I managed to let her know I'd have shitty cell service 'til tomorrow before I lost the connection again.
I inhaled deeply, willing myself to relax. Willing the concerns to shush. The foamy sunbed was perfect and didn’t stick to my skin. Memory foam—that was it. I'd splurged on a pillow like this at home, and here I had a whole fucking sunbed in that material. I sank down comfortably on it, and if I didn’t have qualms about sleeping on the open sea—under the stars—I would've ditched my bed.
I did have qualms, though. And mosquitoes found me delicious.
"Have you managed to clear your head any today?" I asked, hoping he heard me. It wasn’t too noisy anymore.
"Perhaps a little." There was a comfortable stretch of silence before he spoke again. "I really only had one thing planned for today."
"What's that?" I lifted the T-shirt a little to see how low the sun was getting.
"Throw a couple burgers on the grill, open a too-expensive bottle of Scotch, and watch the sunset."
I smiled sleepily to myself.
Sounded like a nice evening, and he certainly deserved it.
With the soft fabric of my tee over my head, I soaked up some sun and dozed on and off for a while, the gentle movements of the yacht oddly lulling for a guy who wasn’t a big fan of the water.
At some point, it became completely silent, and it was a low, mechanical whirr that roused me. "Lights out!" I sat up straight, disoriented. The sound—fuck—it reminded me of the lock systems in prison.
"What's that sound?" I asked, clearing my throat.
"Just lowering the anchor."
Oh. I scrubbed at my face, shaking the memory, then peered around me. "Shouldn’t—" there be a marina? Ellis had mentioned a friend… We were in the middle of a small cove now, though. Surrounded by forest and cliffs on all sides.
I twisted my body and looked behind us. A river, I guessed. How long had we been traveling upriver for?
"Missed the sunset," I heard Ellis mention.
Yeah, it'd recently disappeared behind the tree line. The remaining light danced across the sky and would fade soon enough. And then what? Blair Witch meets Jaws? A forest wasn’t enough; we had to be dumped in a huge puddle of water, too.
"Are we staying here?" I asked.
Ellis nodded and stretched his arms above his head. "A friend has a vacation house here. You can see his dock over there." He pointed. "No need for an extra permit, no rent to stay at the port."
I followed the direction and saw a red house nestled among the trees on a hillside across the cove. Okay, so we'd be in the Canadian Amityville instead. Fuckin' A. We were going to die one horrific way or another.
Oh God. The forest was alive. I heard it. Rustling trees and cooing owls. Or whatever it was.
"Do you have no self-preservation?" I stared at Ellis.
His eyes flashed with mirth. "I take it you're not tagging along for a midnight swim later?"
"You're out of your fucking mind," I replied flatly.
He chuckled and headed downstairs.
Well, shit. Fuck if I was staying here alone. Scooting off the sun
bed, I was quick to follow him below deck. At least down here, I could pretend I was in a house. On land.
Ellis disappeared into the bedroom at the front, only to return with two hoodies. "It gets chilly, and I presume you don’t have extra clothes on board."
No, nothing other than the pullover I wore last night. And my tee that I not-so-conveniently forgot on the sunbed. I wasn’t going up there to get it, that was for damn sure.
"I didn’t plan to be kidnapped, so, no." I accepted the hoodie with a nod of thanks and pulled it on. Jeeesus, the man smelled good. I didn’t expect a full-body shudder. "I, uh… Actually, I wasn’t planning on crashing on the yacht last night, either."
"You mentioned a hangover." He inclined his head and opened the fridge. "Hot date at the marina?"
I snorted and half sat on the dining room table. "I did have a date, but I blew it. Couldn’t bother to give many fucks last night for some reason. Then I met up with Madigan and—you've heard of Jameson, right?"
He nodded, getting busy with burger fixings.
"We got wasted, and then Jameson and I exchanged some saliva before I thought, hey, that boat is really close. I'll just sleep there."
Ellis spared me a brief frown. "Lovely description."
"Fine. We held hands and made kissy faces. Better?"
He sighed and gathered all the food on a tray. He was evidently dead set on his Amityville barbecue.
It made me nervous, which seriously sucked. I didn’t want to be a scaredy-cat.
Running a hand through my hair, I eyed the stairs, knowing I was acting like a goddamn head case for being even slightly anxious. Would I need Ellis to check if there were monsters under my bed, too?
Also, when I was nervous, I lost whatever little filter I had in the first place.
I rambled. "Basically, we were three single guys who complained about dating while getting hammered in the wrong way and talking about some men we find really hot. Your name might've come up once or twice."
Ellis did a double take, the shock evident. "My name, what? I mean, who would—"
"I did." I stood up straight. Now the words were out there, and it temporarily settled the nerves. It gave me something new to focus on, and right now, that was to own what I'd said. No big deal. I hoped he found it flattering. "It can't come as a surprise that you're attractive as all fuck."