Shore Feels Right

by Annette Mardis

  “Their mom promises she’ll set up something soon. So, let me give you a quick tour before we go out to the dock. Here’s our reception and waiting area, obviously.”

  A wave pattern in teal and royal blue ran the length of two pale blue walls, broken up by the company name in red. Cosby’s sister-in-law had painted murals of undersea life on the other two walls.

  The room contained comfortable chairs and two couches, all covered in water-resistant fabric, plus tables, a water cooler, coffeemaker, and an old-fashioned, hot oil kettle popcorn popper. Snack and beverage vending machines occupied a back corner. Televisions continuously played DVDs on boat handling and safety.

  “This is great, not anything like it was years ago,” Monica enthused. “Back then it was dingy and dirty, not welcoming at all.”

  “We ripped up the old, disgusting carpet and put down this residential garage flooring made of a high-impact copolymer that’s supposed to be ultra-durable. We don’t have to worry about people trooping in and out of here with wet, sandy feet. And we can roll boats and Jet Skis on trailers across the floor without damaging it.”

  “Did you hire someone to install it?”

  “Nope, we did it ourselves. Pretty easy, really. No tools, no glue. The panels just snap together.”

  “It looks great. Good color, too.”

  “Thanks. I talked Gavin out of going with gray. The royal blue fits in better with the color scheme and ocean-themed artwork on the walls.”

  Cosby took her hand and led her back to a room with two desks, a couple of filing cabinets, wall shelves, two computers, and not much else.

  “This is the office I share with Gavin. We made the front reception area our priority, so we haven’t gotten around to decorating in here yet. We’ll probably put up framed photos of our boats and Jet Skis as soon as we get time.”

  He grabbed a folded T-shirt off his desk and handed it to her. “We had these made for the grand reopening, and they were such a hit we’re keeping them in stock. I thought you might like one.”

  Monica held up the pale pink garment and laughed at the message on the front, “I Like To Get Nauti.” The back sported the Nauti-Toys logo, address, and phone number.

  “That’s priceless. Thank you. I’ll put it on right now.”

  She pulled the shirt she wore over her head and dropped it in her waterproof bag. Cosby’s libido spiked when he saw the way she filled out her bikini top. He couldn’t wait to see the rest of the swimsuit.

  She did wonders for the new T-shirt, too. Cosby forced himself to quit staring as they walked down a hallway lined with promotional posters of fishing, deck and jet boats, bowriders, and Jet Skis.

  “Do you rent all these different models?”

  “Yep,” he replied. “Much of the inventory we bought with the business was in decent shape. We found good used equipment to replace the stuff that wasn’t and to add to our fleet.”

  They went out the back door to the dry storage building, which also held kayaks and paddleboards, and then to the dock and wet slips where a few larger boats were moored.

  “You guys have done a first-class job,” she complimented. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. That’s good to hear, especially given how hard we’ve worked. They’ve got our rides gassed up and ready to go.” He indicated the two red and black Jet Skis tied to the dock.

  Cosby went over the basic operation—boarding, attaching the engine shut-off clip to her wrist, starting the engine, using the throttle, steering, crossing swells and boat wakes, and getting back on if she fell off.

  “Just remember, if you let off the throttle you won’t be able to steer. We’ll start slow until you get the hang of it. Any place in particular you want to go?”

  “I wouldn’t mind riding into the cove behind the aquarium,” Monica answered. “Other than that, I’m open to anything.”

  Cosby’s eyes widened. “Now that sounds promising. I may hold you to that.”

  She gave him an indulgent look. “Easy there, big guy. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  He couldn’t help the way his imagination ran wild when she stepped out of her shorts, stuck them in her bag, and stowed it in the under-seat compartment. Cosby had to mentally shake himself to restore his concentration as he did a final check on both crafts.

  Then they donned their life jackets, climbed aboard, and set out, riding along the beach to GSA. As they entered the no-wake zone, Monica saw a line of kayaks heading their way with Dani Davidson in the lead.

  “Hey Monica, hey Cosby, how’s the lesson going?” she called when the kayak flotilla drew closer.

  “Great,” Cosby replied. “Monica’s a natural.”

  “Not really, but I’m getting the hang of it. Where are you headed?”

  “Down the beach to Fishermen’s Bayou, through the mangroves, and out to Heron Hideaway, then to the sandbar off Anchor Point,” Dani told her. “The usual route. Where are you two going?”

  “Wherever he wants.” Monica smiled at Cosby. “I’m just playing Follow the Leader.”

  “Well, have fun and be safe.”

  “You, too.” Monica smiled and waved at two other coworkers as they paddled by. Then she and Cosby motored slowly by the dock and around the cove before heading back out into open water.

  “Let’s go a little faster,” he suggested. “Stay beside me so I can keep an eye on you.”

  They hugged the coastline north for a couple of miles before he motioned with his hand to show he intended to turn in a wide arc and head back. Cosby steered clear of other Jet Skis and boats, then stopped as they closed in on Captain Brownbeard’s Pirate Adventure ship, loaded with tourists wearing beads, drinking rum, and dancing to Gangnam Style.

  “That music’s loud enough to make your eardrums bleed,” he complained. “Everybody on board must be deaf, or at least they will be when they get off that boat.”

  “See the lady in the pink flowered muumuu? She’s going to Gangnam herself right over the side.”

  “How about the guy in the floppy hat, beer gut, and purple paisley board shorts? He’s either doing the Harlem shake or having a seizure.”

  Monica laughed. “Looks like they’re having fun, though.”

  A silver-haired couple wearing paper pirate hats and garish Hawaiian shirts waved at her as the ship motored past, and she waved back.

  “You ready to race?” Cosby asked when the wake from the big boat subsided.

  “Sure. Is there a prize?”

  “Yup. Winner gets to pick where we eat dinner later.”

  “You’re making quite the assumption, aren’t you?”

  He flashed a grin that appeared cockier than he felt. “No, but I’m really optimistic.”

  “How do you know I won’t pick someplace expensive when I beat you?” she teased.

  “That’s a chance I’ll have to take. Besides, you’re worth it.”

  She smiled sweetly, yelled “Go!” and took off across the bluish-gray water. She’d gone about fifty yards when she glanced over and noticed she was alone. She throttled down the vehicle and looked behind her. Cosby sat dead in the water, bobbing with the gentle swells of the Gulf of Mexico. Monica turned around and headed back to him.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked as she coasted up.

  “I don’t know. The blasted thing sputtered and died when I gave it gas. The gauge shows plenty of fuel. We’ll have to tow it back.”

  He reached into the storage compartment, pulled out a line, tied it to his Jet Ski, and tossed her the other end. When she’d secured it to her machine, he pulled her toward him and then retied the line with less slack.

  “Just stay where you are and I’ll get on behind you.”

  As Cosby’s foot hit her craft, he slipped and landed with a loud splash in the water. Monica stifled a laugh when he surfaced, sputtering and spitting out a salty mouthful.

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “Just my pride,” he replied.

  Cosby saw Monica
look at something behind him and turned just in time to see a fin break the surface about twenty feet from where he treaded water. His eyes widened and he threw himself up onto her Jet Ski, almost knocking her off in the process. He grabbed her with one hand and the handlebars with the other, and they thrashed about trying to get seated. His arm squashed her breasts, her knee nearly knocked the breath out of him, and her elbow connected with his face, sending stars dancing before his eyes.

  “What the hell?” Monica glared at him. “It was just a freaking dolphin. Nothing to panic about.”

  “A dolphin? Are you sure?”

  She huffed out a breath. “Of course I’m sure. I’m a marine biologist, remember?”

  “I know, but all fins look like sharks to me, especially when I’m in the water with them.”

  “Remind me to explain the difference after we get back. Oh, crap. Did I get you in the eye? It’s beet red.”

  Cosby touched his face and winced. “I’m fine. You okay?”

  “Dandy, although I think I’ll be wearing a B cup from now on.”

  She started to rub her chest but dropped her hand when his gaze heated. Though Cosby wished he could do it for her, he didn’t need another black eye.

  They rode slowly back to the Nauti-Toys dock, and by the time they tied up Cosby’s eye was black-and-blue. But he forgot the shiner as he went to find his chief mechanic while Monica headed for the ladies’ room.

  “What the devil happened to you?” Duncan O’Grady asked as his boss walked up.

  “Jet Ski crapped out on me, and I got an errant elbow in the face when I tried to get on the other one behind Monica.”

  “Well, damn, that’s what you get for trying to climb on a woman you hardly know.”

  Duncan’s laughter stopped abruptly at Cosby’s agitated expression.

  “Here’s what’s not funny. If I’d been riding alone, I’d have been stuck out there. Find out what happened and make sure none of the other Jet Skis have the same problem. And get it done before anybody else takes one out.”

  “I’m on it. Brad, Gil, come help me.”

  Cosby grabbed a couple of water bottles from the staff fridge and met Monica in the reception area.

  “The Jet Skis won’t be available for a while, but if you want to go back out on the water we can take one of the boats.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she replied. “I’ve had enough sun for one day. And you need to ice down that eye.”

  “I’ll live. I’m just sorry your lesson got cut short. I wanted to take you out to the sandbar.”

  “We’ll do it another time, okay?”

  “Sure. No problem.” Cosby swallowed his disappointment. “Did you have fun at least?”

  “I had a blast. Thanks for showing me how to ride. I definitely want to come back and do it again.” Her bright smile lifted his spirits. “And I guess I won that race by default. You up for dinner at Captain Clem’s?”

  “Absolutely. How about I pick you up at six-thirty?”

  “Sounds good.” Monica grabbed a business card and a pen from the front desk, scribbled her address, and handed it to him.

  “Dress casually,” she instructed. “The place is kind of a dive, but the food’s great and the beer’s ice cold. And Clem’s an old friend. He’ll make sure we get a table no matter how busy it is.”

  “You want a snack before you go? Maybe some popcorn? Or something out of the vending machines?” Cosby would’ve offered her anything to forestall her leaving.

  “No, thanks. I’ll see you later.”

  She took three steps before Cosby called, “Wait. I’ll walk you out.” He held the front door open for her, then accompanied her across the parking lot to a sporty red convertible that looked nearly new.

  “Great car. Had it long?” he asked.

  “Six months. It’s really fun to drive. I love it.”

  “I’ll bet you look racy behind the wheel.”

  “I don’t think I impressed that cop who pulled me over the other day, although he did let me off with a warning.”

  “Speeding?”

  “Just a little.” Her saucy grin told him she was well aware of her effect on men and had no qualms about using it to her advantage. “See you tonight.”

  She climbed into her car and buckled up. Then she gave him a jaunty little wave and drove away.

  Cosby watched until the car disappeared around a corner, then walked back to the dock where Duncan fiddled with the engine of the broken-down Jet Ski. Before Cosby could ask what the mechanic found, one of the dock attendants sidled up.

  “I don’t care what anybody says about that sleazy bitch, she’s still smoking hot. Those tits, that ass. I’d sure like to get me some of that, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Shut your damn mouth, Troy, and show some respect.” Cosby’s hands curled into fists as he loomed over the other man.

  Troy laughed but his eyes held a mean gleam.

  “Respect? After what she did to my uncle? You’re out of your frigging mind.”

  “What the hell are you yammering about?”

  “My uncle used to be the marketing director at the aquarium,” Troy began. “He was getting a little something-something on the side with that slut until his wife found out. She’d just had twins, so you can imagine her reaction when she discovered her husband was screwing around. He broke it off with Monica, and she filed a sexual harassment claim against him and got him fired. Now he’s selling ads for the newspaper, making squat, and taking handouts from his in-laws, who’ll hold that over his head until the day they die, which can’t come soon enough.”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop spreading nasty rumors and get your ass back to work.”

  Cosby’s expression warned Troy not to say another word, but he didn’t notice or didn’t care.

  “Ask her if you don’t believe me,” he insisted. “Or hell, ask anybody at GSA. They’ll tell you what a vindictive whore she is. She may look expensive, but she’s nothing but a cheap piece of trash. Still wouldn’t mind tapping that, though.”

  Cosby wanted to grab Troy by his shirtfront and shake him until his teeth rattled right out of his mouth. But he managed to control himself because the last thing he needed was to end up in jail for beating the little pissant to a pulp.

  In a low but lethal voice, Cosby ordered, “Take your shit, put it in a box, and get off my property. Now! You’re fired.”

  Troy sneered. “Take your job and shove it straight up your ass and out through your ears. You don’t pay worth a crap anyway. And you’d better guard your dick around your new girlfriend. She’ll gnaw it off and jam it up your nose if you’re not careful.”

  When Cosby took a threatening step toward him, Troy scurried off like a cockroach when light illuminates a dark room. Suddenly remembering he wasn’t alone, Cosby turned to find Duncan staring at him.

  “You got something to say, too?” Cosby demanded.

  “Nope. Not a thing, boss.” Duncan turned his attention back to the Jet Ski engine.

  “Good decision,” Cosby muttered. Then he stalked away without another word.

  Chapter 8

  Troy’s comments stayed with Cosby all afternoon despite his best efforts to block them out. His ex-employee didn’t strike him as a liar or the type to hold a grudge without cause. But then, how well did he really know the guy? Cosby wasn’t about to confront Monica. They weren’t even a couple yet. And he wouldn’t go behind her back and ask anybody she worked with. Besides, did he really want to know the truth?

  He did, and he didn’t.

  Since the aquarium visit, he’d thought about her a lot. He found her fun, sexy, and intelligent, and she hit it off with his nephews, always a plus. They’d talked about her so frequently that their mother threatened to muzzle them.

  Cosby wanted to spend more time with her, so he shoved Troy’s accusation to the back of his mind. For now anyway.

  Any lingering questions about her past sailed right out of
his head when Monica answered her door that evening. She wore a short denim skirt, sandals, and a clingy melon-colored top that made his hands itch to explore her curves. Behave yourself, he silently commanded a certain body part, which threatened to leap up in enthusiastic appreciation for Monica’s figure, too.

  His smile faded when he saw her alarmed expression.

  “Oh my God, look at your face. Didn’t you put ice on it? Does it hurt as bad as it looks?”

  “It’s fine. But I wouldn’t mind if you kissed it and made it better.”

  “Playing the sympathy card, are you?”

  “Did it work?” He gave her his most winning grin, looking like a wounded boy in need of TLC. She leaned forward and oh so gently pressed her lips to his bruises.

  “Better?”

  “Much.”

  “Good. Let’s go, then. I can’t wait for you to taste the seafood at Captain Clem’s.”

  On the way to the restaurant she asked if his mechanics had figured out what was wrong with the Jet Ski that stopped running out on the water.

  “Yeah, it was a faulty fuel line, and thankfully it was the only one with a problem. I’m just glad it didn’t happen with a customer riding it.”

  “You look beat. Rough afternoon?”

  “Kind of. I made the mechanics double-check not only all the Jet Skis but the boats, too. They were still working, and grumbling, when I left. And I had to fire one of our dock attendants today, so I spent time I couldn’t spare going through job applications on file.”

  “Really? What happened?”

  “Kid let his mouth get ahead of his brain and said things he shouldn’t have.”

  “To a customer?”

  “No, to me. I don’t need that attitude from anybody, let alone somebody who deals with the public.”

  “Wow. He must’ve said something pretty bad.”

  “Bad enough. It’s not worth repeating. Besides, I’d rather talk about how incredible you look.”

  Monica laughed. “You sure know how to flatter a girl. But be careful or your nose will grow.”

  I can think of something else that’ll get bigger, he thought. “I’m not feeding you a line. You’d look good no matter what you wore. Or didn’t wear.”