Bossy Brothers: Jesse

by JA Huss

  “It’s yours then?”

  Should I lie? Nah. “It’s my brother Luke’s personal cruiser. He said I could use it today. Dive equipment all stowed, wetsuits down below, and there’s even some fishing poles if we want to give that a go.”

  He stares at me for a moment. I can’t see his eyes because of the sunglasses, but I know he’s squinting them at me. Wondering what I’m up to.

  “What are you up to?”

  I chuckle. “Can’t I just plan us a nice date?”

  “I was threatening to put you in prison this morning, so call me suspicious. Maybe you’re going to throw me overboard. Or strand me on some tiny sandbar.”

  “Well, you can think what you want. And sure, I did make this arrangement to show off. Maybe even convince you that walking out on me thirteen years ago was your loss, not mine. But”—I shrug—“now it just sounds like a nice time, don’t you think?”

  We stare at each other for a few seconds. Then he lifts his sunglasses up so I can see his blue, blue eyes, and says, “I didn’t walk out. I keep telling you that.”

  “And I heard you,” I say back. “I’m over it, OK? This is just like I said. A nice time, that’s all.”

  We continue to lock eyes. Then he lets out a breath, drops his sunglasses down into place, and says, “Do you know how to sail?”

  “I’ve done it enough to help you out, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  He looks at the sporty little trimaran and sighs. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t need to thank me.”

  He looks back at me. “No. Really. I do. Because this”—he pans his hand towards the yacht—“this is me. This is what I do. And now I get to do it with you.”

  My stomach does this weird fluttery flip thing as he stares at me and suddenly I’m at a loss for words.

  “I told you back then I’d take you places. Take you across the ocean and show you places. And I never did. But now…” He looks back at Luke’s sailboat. “Now I can.”

  I nod. Smiling as he returns his gaze to me. Maybe even turning my trademark shade of Bright Berry Beach Pink. Because he’s looking at me like… like I’m his best friend and his best girl. And even though I had no plans beyond showing him who was boss when this day started, right now I wouldn’t mind being bossed around by Jesse Boston.

  He hops onto the deck. Pauses, taking it all in. His gaze wanders up the very tall mast, then down to the sails, all packed away. I don’t know him well. Hardly at all, in fact. But I can feel his mind whirling and twirling with ideas and plans for those sails once we get out of the marina.

  “Where will you take me?” And then I realize I just said that out loud and didn’t mean to.

  He grins. Grins big. Then extends his hand and says, “Join me and see.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - JESSE

  Home.

  That’s the only word that comes to mind once we motor out of the marina and Emma and I raise the sails. When the wind fills them and the ship lurches into it. When the spray from the salty sea air hits my face and the sun beams down on my bare shoulders—everything about my overturned world uprights itself again.

  It’s not that I don’t sail anymore. I do.

  But I haven’t done it like this in so long, the last time I felt this free actually eludes me.

  Certainly haven’t sailed in the tropics since before my father died and I’ve never done it with a girl like Emma. Ever.

  I have so many regrets about that weekend we spent together when we were young. Because I wasted it. Sure, we kissed and fucked. We stargazed and dreamed. But I could’ve done it so different. I could’ve done it better.

  I set a heading for one of the eastern islets and just stand in the wind and let the stress and tension of more than a decade evaporate.

  Never in a million years could I have predicted this day.

  This morning I was angry. Fuming that Emma and her friends got the best of me last night. Embarrassed about the whole mess and eager to show her who was in charge. I was going to force her to spend the day with me. Make her miserable. Drag her to places she didn’t want to go.

  Maybe it would’ve turned out like this. I like her. I knew I liked her before I found out who she was and the history we shared. So maybe we’d have found this kind of peace with my plan back in the city. Have breakfast, and then… I don’t know. I’d buy her shit she didn’t need. Expensive shit to prove I could. But of course, that would’ve just perpetuated the hostility.

  She has too much money to be impressed by things.

  So I don’t think so. I really don’t.

  I don’t think I’d have come up with such a perfect way to impress her as she did me. And here’s the thing. This didn’t cost her much. Oh, the jet is expensive. The fuel, and Miles, and the crew. Not to mention the hangar fees. But that’s just side money, really. Besides, I really don’t think she was trying to impress me with the jet as much as let me know she and I are equals when it comes to that kind of shit.

  But this yacht. This day trip sailing around the tropics. This is something else. It’s not the money, because again, it’s costing her the price of fuel and nothing more.

  It’s the thought that went in to it. And maybe… the fact that this is just something she can whip up by asking a few favors of her family.

  And her family. God, what I wouldn’t give to have her family. All that boisterous bellowing and macho posturing tempered by her mother’s monopolization of everyone’s Saturday night with the promise of a well-cooked meal.

  Her day is purposeful. Not the way mine was planned. Different.

  Maybe I’m making that up. Wishful thinking and shit like that.

  But she planned this day for me. Only Jesse Boston would be so impressed with such an experience.

  I glance at her now, her pigtails blowing in the wind, her eyes scanning the deep blue ocean. Every once in a while she points at something and says, “Dolphins.” Or, “Sharks.” Or, “Jellyfish.”

  She is at home here with me on this yacht as anyone could be.

  When we get close to the little islets I’m heading for she helps me lower the sails and we motor in towards a sandbar.

  There’s other people sailing today, but no one close. It’s just us when I drop the anchor and look at her.

  “What do we do here?” she asks. And not in a snide way, either. More of an eyebrow-waggle way that comes with innuendo. I realize that’s our thing now. We have a thing.

  “Everything,” I say.

  Here is a sandbar. Small. Maybe forty feet long and twenty feet wide. There’s is literally nothing to do here and yet my answer of ‘everything’ still rings true.

  “Let’s dive first,” she says.

  And then we take our time putting on the wet suits and gear. I listen attentively as she muses about her childhood. About all the things she did out here with her family. She actually knows where we’re at. Which shouldn’t surprise me, but does.

  Everything about her is a surprise.

  Then we’re falling backwards into the ocean and everything goes silent except for the sound of underwater breathing and bubbles.

  I am home and she brought me here.

  Even though above the water there is nothing to see but the ocean lit up with the afternoon sun, below is something else entirely.

  There are a few scattered patch reefs nearby. Nothing big or extraordinary. But we see a small octopus, and a few rays, and the bright-colored coral wave in the wind of water.

  And every time I look at her pigtails floating weightless around her face, I feel every moment I’ve missed since that weekend thirteen years ago.

  What would my life have looked like with Emma in it from the beginning? Would we really be that couple by now? The ones who argue and hate with as much passion as they laugh and love?

  I don’t know. There’s a part of me that wants that. Wants to know someone so well that the fights are mostly meaningless and no matter how ugly they get, you know it’s just tempo
rary.

  But there’s another part that says this is better. We lived lives that were our own. She got her chance to shine and succeed and I found a way to be a better man. And we did that separately so we could come back together today, ready for what comes next.

  What does come next?

  I can’t even begin to imagine. Because Emma Dumas is no ordinary woman and I am no ordinary man.

  But somehow I think it could work.

  I think we only get better together.

  We don’t resurface until we’re out of air. We drop our masks and mouthpieces and laugh. I pull her along as I swim back towards the boat or she takes a turn pulling me.

  Getting out of the water is always a bummer. You’re so free and weightless in the ocean and then your buoyancy disappears and you realize you’ve got fifty pounds of equipment strapped to your back and a whole world of problems up here above the surface.

  We flop down on the tarp between the main and outer hull, breathless, tired, and happy. She gets up first, peeling off her gear until she’s down to her shorts and tank top. Then helps me, because I just lie there transfixed, watching her with a smile.

  She sits down next to me, then lies down, propping herself up on one elbow. “Now what?”

  I turn my head to look at her, pretty exhausted but not looking forward to the approaching sunset. Because I don’t ever want this day to end.

  “Now,” I say, turning my face back up to the sky, “we be still.”

  “Did you like the dive?”

  “Fuckin’ loved it,” I say, smiling.

  “Me too,” she says, turning over on her back. “I haven’t done it in a long time. Been too busy with my city life to think much about Key West.”

  “You don’t miss it?” I ask.

  “Almost never.” She turns back on her side again. Beams at me. “Until now, that is.” She huffs out a small laugh. “I’ve never been on a dive date before.”

  “Me either.”

  “That’s weird, right? I mean, I grew up diving. You’re the big boat guy. And yet, it took all these years and this weird day to finally make it happen.”

  I turn now too. I just want to stare at her. Her pigtails are curling and drying in the late afternoon heat and sideways beams of sun. She got a little glow to her that only a day in the tropics can bring on so quickly. And she smells like a perfect summer sea.

  “I’ve missed you,” I say. Not really appropriate and kinda stupid, but I say it anyway because it suddenly feels true. Like this was the elusive emotion bubbling up inside me since I first saw her at the auction last night and I just now figured it out.

  She starts to shake her head and laugh, but I don’t let her brush off like that. Not this time. I lean over, positioning my body over the top of hers, and kiss her.

  We sink a little deeper into the bouncy tarp in this moment. Like the weight of the world is on top of us, but disappears at the same time because we are still floating. Still suspended above reality, hovering in mid-air above the calm water below and the endless sky above. Rocking with the up-and-down motion of a moving sea.

  “Now’s your chance,” she whispers into our kiss.

  I know what she means. Now’s my chance to get that fuck I’ve been wanting. Now’s my chance to take control.

  And I take it. I take all her control away and say, “Yeah. But I’m gonna pass.”

  “What?” She laughs.

  “I’m gonna pass,” I say again, still kissing her. “I don’t need that right now. I just need this.”

  She must understand because she doesn’t object. And we lie like that for a good long time. We watch the sun set and the stars come out. And I feel like I made good on those promises I made her all those years ago.

  I will take you places and show you things.

  And I have. At least… I’ve started to.

  The night air grows chilly after a while and both our stomachs start rumbling. We motor back to the marina and ease up to the dock well after midnight.

  I have a moment of regret that we missed Saturday night dinner with her family, but only a moment. And then we’re back on the jet being served an elaborate meal of steak and lobster by Miles, who still looks as fresh as he did this morning.

  My shirt is even waiting for me. Clean and pressed, just like he promised.

  Emma drinks champagne and laughs as she tells me about how her mother will be monopolizing two of my weekends a month from now ’til eternity. And I listen, and smile, and picture it in my head as I down some fizzy orange drink.

  I picture a whole life spent with Emma and the diving, fishing, boating Dumas clan down in Key West and everything in my world is right again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - EMMA

  “Do you want to come up?” I ask, just as he pulls the Huracán into the valet of my building. He didn’t ask me to drive the Lamborghini, just took the key from the parking attendant at the airport and opened the passenger door for me.

  Who gets to drive my shiny new sports car wasn’t a battle worth having. Besides, I have this new urge to be under his control.

  I’ve thought about this question for hours now. We’re both exhausted and it’s nearly dawn. But I have an unreasonable urge to keep him here with me.

  It was a dream date. And while I kinda planned it that way, the entire thing was so perfect and beautiful, and unexpectedly real there’s no way it could’ve been planned.

  Except… we didn’t have sex. And I really wanted to have sex. I’m hoping he’s feeling the same way. I’m hoping he reads between the lines and says yes to my offer.

  “No,” he says.

  I shoot him an open-mouthed look of shock.

  “I want you to sleep for as long as you like. Then text me. Our weekend date isn’t over yet, ya know. I have one more day with you, Ms. Dumas.”

  “Oh.” I laugh, then suck in a deep breath of air. “OK. That sounds like a plan.”

  “Wait right there,” he says, holding up a finger. Then he gets out of the car, leans in to the valet to say something as he palms him a tip. Then walks around to my side and opens my door.

  When he extends his hand to help me out I take it, feeling slightly shy, then slightly foolish for feeling shy, and step out.

  He doesn’t let go of my hand. “What’s going on here?” I ask. Because even though I can sense that something has shifted between us, I’m just not entirely sure what that shift means.

  He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he closes the car door, drops both his hands to my waist, and urges me backwards until I bump up against the car door.

  Then he kisses me.

  It’s expected and unexpected. Yes, I figured he’d do this. No, I didn’t think I’d feel this way when it happened.

  I swoon for this man’s kiss.

  My head goes drifty and light, my legs go weak and shaky, and my stomach flutters with the wings of a million tiny butterflies.

  Everything around us disappears. Nothing else exists when the tip of his tongue sweeps up against mine. He tastes like fizzy orange. Everything about him is cool and refreshing. He is some kind of new promise. Or maybe the disappearing memory of old regrets.

  “Do you remember what I want you to do?” he whispers, pulling out of the kiss.

  I open my eyes and nod my head.

  “Say it back to me.”

  I know he’s being bossy, I just don’t care at the moment. “Sleep. For as long as I like. Then text you,” I say.

  He grins as his eyebrows lift up. Innuendo, I realize. “Perfect,” he says.

  And now he’s backlit by the pink and orange of the rising sun stealthily forcing its way into the city between a maze of tall buildings. A beam hits my face, blinding me for a moment until I turn my head.

  He turns my head back, positions himself between me and the sun, and kisses me again. This time I don’t close my eyes. I watch his lips. Notice they are very nice, and soft, and—”Hmmm,” I mumble. Because he put one hand behind my neck to hold me in this ki
ss a little longer.

  He murmurs, “Gonna let me boss you today?”

  And I say, “Sure.” Which comes out very breathy, and sexy, and erotic. Kinda like a purr. Which I didn’t mean to do, but ends up being totally appropriate because he chuckles a little and kisses me again.

  “Good,” he says. And this time when he backs out of the kiss I know our date is officially over because the valet pulls his little red Ferrari in front of my Huracán.

  Still, he holds my hand in his. Takes two steps towards his car—and for a moment I think, Holy shit. He’s gonna take me with him. Would I go? I’m totally going.

  But then he lets my fingers slip through his hand and he turns and thanks the valet driver, then disappears inside the car.

  I stand there like a love-sick teenager as he pulls forward. Then catch him waving at me in his rear view and wave back.

  I don’t know how I get up to my apartment. I have no clue at all. I just know I’m inside, peeling off my clothes, reluctant to change because I smell like the beach.

  No, I smell like him. That’s him all over me. The sun, and the wind, and the sand, and the sea. Every bit of it is him.

  I sink down into my couch cushions and sigh just as my phone rings in my pocket.

  Mila.

  I stare at the screen, debating if I should answer it or not, then decide nope. Not gonna have that conversation right now. I just want to rest and… think about him.

  I turn it off so there’s no more debate, place it on the coffee table, and then flop over on the couch and close my eyes—my body still rocking with the motion of planes, and boats, and…

  When I wake up it’s almost evening.

  I still smell like Jesse’s day and that thought evokes an automatic smile. When I turn my phone on the home screen states I have nine missed messages. Eight texts from Mila and the girls, and one, a voicemail, that’s from Mr. Bossy Brother himself.

  I press play:

  “Hey. This is Jesse Boston. You know, that guy you drugged and kidnapped because I was a dumbass drug addict back when we first met thirteen years ago and I didn’t have the good sense to call you and explain why I had to be a douchebag and bail out so quick? Yeah. Me. Hard to forget, easy to miss when I’m gone. Oh, no, wait. That’s you.”