by Amy Vansant
“I’m going to go swimming,” she said.
Jessica spun away from the group and whipped off her shirt. Her bra snapped open as if on remote control and dropped to the deck. Skirt shimmied down.
Emily watched; speechless.
Redheads. What could you do?
Jessica stepped on the side of the boat and gracefully dove into the water.
“I did not see that coming,” said Emily.
“I did,” mumbled Ryan.
The boys seemed oblivious to Jessica’s antics. Ryan had seen Jessica in every possible state of undress; her naked swimming demonstration held no mystery. Sebastian’s neck vertebrae appeared fused; he never swiveled in Jessica’s direction, no matter how loudly she called or giggled. Emily guessed years of practice had taught Sebastian never to look at another guy’s girl, particularly when she was naked.
“Come in!” Jessica called motioning to Emily from the water.
Emily took a moment to consider her level of intoxication and found it lacking. She wasn’t drunk, which made getting naked a much more difficult decision. She had never been a skinny-dipping-in-the-middle-of-the-house-lined-river-at-midnight type before, but she hadn’t been in this position, either.
If circling Sebastian like a moon had not yet convinced him of her adoration, maybe nudity would?
Emily slipped out of her summer dress as discreetly and quickly as possible, and dove into the water.
Jessica and Emily trod water by the side of the boat, clothed by darkness. The boys ignored them, other than to politely decline invitations to join.
“This feels so good, doesn’t it?” asked Jessica.
Emily had to agree. It really did. The water was warm. The boys rarely spoke, as if they didn’t want to disrupt such a perfect evening. Along the banks, the dock and porch lights of the waterfront homes danced with their rippling twins, reflected upon the river.
Emily put her foot on the lowest rung of the small ladder, preparing to climb back in the boat. The water around her began to glow with an eerie purple iridescence. For the first time, Emily understood why people in alien movies froze when beautiful, but ultimately deadly, lights appeared.
They’re pretty.
“Oh!” gasped Jessica. “Oh! Ryan! Look!”
The boy’s heads appeared over the side of the boat, both of them clearly concerned for Jessica’s safety. They noticed the ethereal glow, their eyes growing wide with wonder.
“What is that?” asked Sebastian.
“Maybe shrimp?” said Emily. “Iridescent shrimp?”
“Huh,” said Sebastian. He looked at Ryan.
“See?” said Sebastian. “I told you she knows everything.”
The movement of the girls’ legs made the ghostly spectacle brighter, and they remained in the water, kicking to create bursts of light.
Emily was enthralled by the natural wonder, but annoyed it had taken glowing crustaceans to make the jackasses in the boat notice two naked girls.
When the novelty faded, Jessica and Emily climbed into the boat and dressed. Emily moved to the helm and Sebastian took the seat beside her. Ryan joined Jessica in the back. The moonlight on the water glistened around them, nearly as beautiful as the ethereal purple shrimp. Emily looked at Sebastian and found him staring at her. The moon lit the curve of his cheekbones and darkened his jaw line, giving him manly, romantic shadowing.
“That was sort of magical,” she said.
Sebastian chuckled. He looked away, but she could see he was smiling.
Emily turned the key and shifted into forward, fluffing her wet hair in the breeze as they roared back to the marina.
Ryan and Jessica canoodled in the back of the boat.
“Emily,” said Sebastian, yelling over the engine. “Do you—”
Emily held up a finger to signal that she needed quiet.
“One second,” she screamed back. “I have to park this damn thing.”
Emily slowed and made her way to the slip. Her approach was diagonal, but passable. Jessica, who had fallen asleep on Ryan’s shoulder, jumped as Emily bumped into a piling.
“Impressive,” said Sebastian as she cut the engine.
“Thank you,” she said, closing her eyes and bowing her head to demonstrate she accepted his gracious compliment with great tongue-in-cheek humility. She nearly remarked that she was a girl of many talents, but realized in the nick of time how cheesy-sexpot that would sound.
“Oh, were you going to say something a minute ago?” she asked.
Sebastian shook his head.
“No. Just good job.”
Ryan stood and retied the back line. Sebastian moved forward to retie the front line and Emily watched him go. She was sure he’d had more to say than “good job.” She regretted shushing him, but she’d been flustered planning her approach to the marina.
“Help up?”
Emily looked up to find Ryan off the boat, offering a hand to her. It was low tide and the boat sat four feet below the pier. Though there was a ladder, getting out would be much more difficult than getting in had been.
“Thanks,” said Emily, accepting his hand.
Ryan aided Sebastian next, and the four wandered back to the Rover where their vehicles awaited. It was late, and everyone was tired. They all offered one version or another of “see you later” and left. Nothing romantic; just four tired boaters.
Driving home, one question repeated in Emily’s mind.
Was that a date?
Chapter Seventeen
After their midnight boat ride, Emily sensed a growing intimacy between her and Sebastian, but reading him was impossible. Pushing her intuition into action proved harder still. She saw him at the Rover two or three times a week. They talked, laughed, maybe even flirted, and then...nothing. She had to remind herself that he had a girlfriend. What did she expect?
While Emily’s love life floundered, her dart game improved. Worst-case scenario, she might never win Sebastian’s heart, but she could always become a dart shark. Six years of higher education and an unused teaching degree, all to join the dart tour. Her parents would be so proud.
Emily was playing a five-dollar game, standing at the dart line just inside the Rover’s front door, when someone slapped her ass, hard.
She spun.
“Hey girrrl,” said the slapper.
It was Greta.
Emily gasped, and then slapped her hand to her mouth, horrified that she had gasped. Greta continued to the bar without acknowledging Emily’s shock.
Emily and Greta had seen each other a few times, but had never been introduced. Why would Greta suddenly give Emily a sorority girl high-five?
Anxiety flooded Emily’s veins. Her mind scrambled for a reason Greta might slap her. She contrived four possibilities:
A: Greta was in a super-friendly mood, and Emily had become such a fixture in the snug, that Greta felt the urge to acknowledge her presence. Innocent.
B: Sebastian’s girlfriend knew about the boat ride and Emily’s crush, and offered this passive-aggressive gesture to make it clear she knew. Worrisome.
B, Subsection 2: Greta slapped her with a poisonous dart, the effects of which would cause Emily’s throat to constrict until she admitted her crush on Sebastian. Greta would then administer the antidote, but only after Emily promised to pack up and leave town. Crazy.
C: Greta had a crush on Emily. An interesting twist, but doubtful. Greta looked at every man that passed as if they were sizzling, grass-fed beef and she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Emily doubted she was Greta’s type. Porno plotline.
D. Emily was really, really over-thinking the whole thing. Winner.
“Uh...hey,” said Emily, re-establishing her composure.
Greta stood at the bar, her back to Emily. She held up a hand without turning to acknowledge Emily’s hello. A second later, another girl burst into the bar, nearly falling into Emily, and then jumping on Greta’s back. Greta and the girl screeched and erupted into giggles.
&nbs
p; “Oh my god!” said Greta. “It’s about time, Sydney! Why don’t you just run into me? You almost knocked over my new handbag!”
“Oh Greta it is gorgeous! Marc Jacobs?”
“Yep. He gave it to me.”
Emily missed her next toss and her dart clattered to the faux brick floor. It was hard to concentrate on darts and eavesdrop at the same time. She didn’t catch the girls’ entire exchange, but it was clear Greta’s relationship with Sebastian was healthy enough for him to buy her an expensive handbag. Emily felt sick a second time.
Greta and the girl continued their conversation as they left the Rover, chattering like mice. As they walked by the window, Emily noticed Greta slip and nearly snap an ankle as she struggled to walk in her high-heeled sandals.
Reason E for the butt-slap; Greta was drunk.
Emily took a deep, cleansing breath. The slap on her ass probably didn’t mean Greta plotted her death; buzzed Greta wanted to party with her friend. Emily simply had the most accessible tush for smacking at the very moment Greta felt like smacking tush.
Unless Greta was one of those people who acted friendly, right up until the day Emily awoke in a trunk, her wrists bound with an Hermès belt, a silk scarf stuffed in her mouth.
Emily re-focused on her game. She won, and pushed herself into a second round against a short, dark-haired newcomer. She needed something to keep herself from staring at the vision of Greta’s orange handbag burning in her mind’s eye.
Sebastian entered and took his usual spot in the snug. They exchanged the usual hellos.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” he said.
Emily felt uneasy. She didn’t know what she expected, but it was never quite enough. She didn’t expect Sebastian to kiss her; not even a little Parisian kiss! kiss! on either cheek. Still, the Hey-Hey always felt like a letdown.
Hell, his girlfriend felt me up before he did.
After the midnight boat ride, Emily thought things would be different, or at least, progress more quickly. Instead, Sebastian went home and bought Greta a handbag to assuage his guilt.
Emily made short work of her foe at the dartboard. The guy gave up, and left the snug. Emily took the opportunity to sidle up to Sebastian.
“Greta was here a little bit ago,” she said. She could hear the bitter edge of her tone.
Sebastian looked at her with no emotion. She continued.
“She slapped my ass.”
“She what?”
“She slapped my ass. I was at the line and she walked in and slapped my ass and said ‘Hey girrrrl….’”
Sebastian rolled his eyes.
“She’s like that. And I think she’s hanging out with some of her girls today. She’s probably already plastered.”
Emily nodded. “She did seem pretty buzzed. “You...uh...” Emily hesitated, afraid to continue.
“What?”
“You didn’t tell her we went out in the boat or anything, did you?”
“No!” said Sebastian, visibly annoyed. “We don’t talk. We aren’t—”
Sebastian ran his tongue over his front teeth, visibly agitated.
“Just don’t worry about it,” he said.
Emily felt chastised. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought it up. Maybe the conversation was starting to feel too much like a drama.
“Okay, sorry. Just wanted to be sure she wasn’t mad at me or something.”
“Why? Why do you care what she thinks?”
Emily blanched. “I— I guess I don’t. I just didn’t want a boat ride to get you in trouble...”
“Get me in—” Sebastian turned on Emily. He seemed angry, but the emotion passed and his face relaxed.
“I’m not in trouble.” His voice lost its edge. “Just don’t worry about it.”
Sebastian looked away and began the business of finding and lighting himself a cigarette.
Emily took a sip of her drink. She didn’t know what to make of their exchange. She hardly had a moment to consider, before someone blinded her by slapping a hand over each eye.
“Guess who?” said a man’s voice.
Emily turned on her stool to find Mark standing behind her, grinning as usual.
“Hey!” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I dunno. Softball is over.” He reached into his back pocket and produced three darts. “Ta da! Bet you didn’t know I play darts, too.”
“I did not.” Emily looked at Sebastian. “You guys know each other, of course.”
Sebastian stared at Mark from behind his cigarette. He nodded.
“You want a game?” asked Mark.
“Sure,” said Sebastian.
Excited, Mark gave the air a little head butt. “Yeah! Let me get a beer and take a few practice shots and then we’ll play. Cool.”
Mark left the snug to find a bartender.
“I don’t think he plays much,” said Emily, as Sebastian stood and pulled out his darts. “You’re going to kill him.”
Sebastian remained silent, but Emily watched as the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk. It made his hybrid dimple/laugh line more prominent. Emily wanted to kiss it, but thought better of it.
Mark came back, beer in hand.
“Ten dollars?” asked Sebastian.
Emily shot him a glance. The going rate was five...
“Whatever,” said Mark. He set down his beer, pulled out his wallet and put ten on the bar. Sebastian did the same.
“High rollers,” mumbled Emily, taking a sip of her drink.
“Rich kid,” Sebastian whispered in her ear before stepping to the line.
Emily snorted vodka into her nose.
For the next hour, Mark and Sebastian hogged the near board. Other players came and went, striking up games on the second board, but Mark and Sebastian held their ground.
Mark erased the board in preparation for another game. Sebastian moved to the bar and pulled a cigarette from his pack.
“Check it out,” he said to Emily.
Sebastian put the cigarette in his right palm, which he held open and flat in front of him. He checked to be sure Emily was watching, and then slapped his right wrist with his left hand. The cigarette jumped into the air, flipping as it arced toward Sebastian’s mouth. He caught it, positioned perfectly between his sexy lips.
“Oooh,” said Emily. “You’re so cool.”
“I know,” said Sebastian, keeping his eyes on her as he lit the cigarette. “I can’t help it.”
“You’re up,” snapped Mark, clearly unimpressed.
Mark played darts well. The two men traded games as Emily watched, and occasionally played beside them against other competitors on board two.
It grew dark outside. Emily ordered another Chicken Club and settled on one of the stools to watch the boys’ never-ending war.
“Is it best out of...something?” she asked.
Neither of them answered. Sebastian concentrated, preparing to throw. Mark stood at the end of the bar, staring at him. Emily had never seen Mark so serious.
Sebastian missed the sixteen on his last dart and Mark stepped to the line. He already had sixteens closed, and logically, could have moved onto the fifteens. Instead, Mark returned his focus to the sixteens, because Sebastian still had them open. He hit a triple and banged Sebastian for forty-eight points.
Sebastian glared at Mark. “You pointin’ mother—”
“Sorry about that, Sea Bass,” said Mark. Emily stifled a laugh and looked to see Sebastian’s reaction to the nickname.
The whites of Sebastian’s eyes flashed, his jaw clenched.
“Oh, it is about to get ugly in here,” muttered Sebastian, stepping to the line.
Sebastian didn’t usually compete with such bloodlust. Generally, he was reserved to the point of appearing bored; nothing could ruffle him. Mark, too, seemed transformed. He’d traded in his goofy demeanor for the stony countenance of one of his favorite movie death-dealers.
Emily peered through the front window
of the bar and noticed Greta hustling by, partially concealed behind her friend. Emily recognized the bright orange purse Greta had been so proud to display earlier in the evening. Emily’s skin prickled with nervous dread.
Emily glanced at Sebastian to see if he’d noticed his girlfriend outside. He hadn’t. He’d just hit two bulls-eyes and a sixteen to win.
“Bam!” he barked. “Bring it!”
Mark gritted his teeth and erased the chalkboard to prepare for a rubber match to break the tie.
Intrigued by the way Greta had scuttled past the bar, Emily put down her drink and walked outside. She looked down the street in the direction Greta had headed.
Half a block away she saw two girls. The one shaped like Greta was kissing a man.
The object of Greta’s smooching was standing outside the open passenger door of a dark car parked at an odd angle in front of a driveway. The headlights were on and the engine running. Emily took a step back into the Rover’s entrance nook and peered around the corner like a spy. The group would be less likely to see her tucked inside the doorway, but if they did spot her, she’d look suspicious. Or crazy.
Emily worried about looking crazy a little less every day.
Though the remaining sunlight waned, Emily saw well enough to confirm the identities of the two girls. Greta’s large orange purse was the visual equivalent of a safety vest. She couldn’t have been more visible wearing a traffic cone as a hat.
Emily couldn’t see the face of the man; it spent most of its time smooshed against Greta’s. He had an average build and height and wore shorts. He could have been anyone.
The man stepped back into the car, followed by Greta who squeezed in to sit on the man’s lap. Her friend opened the back door and slipped inside.
Emily waited for the car to pass, hoping she’d see the men in the front seats, but the car nosed out, waited for another car to pass, and made a U-turn to head in the opposite direction.
Damn.
Emily stood a moment longer, processing this new information. Greta was having an affair. The kiss she shared with the man wasn’t the sort of peck with which you greet a friend. It was the sort of kiss that led to naked people.