She lifted the beanbags, kneading them between her fingers. He could hear her taking deep breaths, see her ribcage expanding with them.
Finally the car arrived; the doors slid apart with a beep. She stood frozen, so he put out a hand to hold it until she was ready or decided she wasn’t, but then she rushed forward and waved him in after her. “No problem,” she said. “Piece of cake.”
He watched her carefully during the descent, especially when they stopped several times to take on more passengers, but she seemed giddy now, greeting an elderly couple with a bright hello, asking a small girl already wearing a full snorkel mask about her plans, high-fiving her when she said she was going on a boat, too.
On the ground floor, Nicki held the door for everyone to get off first, even Ansel, then walked with him to the valet guys at the front of the resort with a wild smile on her face.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“Totally. Just had to break through. It’s not the ride, it’s the getting on. Can’t explain it.”
“Maybe it’s that moment of decision when you give something else all that power over you.”
Smiling at him sideways, she adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Maybe.”
Since he’d called the valet guys already, the car waited for them at the curb. They climbed in with their gear, two coffees he’d made for the journey, and headed south along the coast to Maalaea Harbor. It wasn’t quite thirty miles, but to be safe, they were allowing an hour for the drive.
He doubted Nicki ever felt safe.
“Did you bring a sweatshirt?” she asked him. “I read you can get cold, especially after you’ve been in the water.”
He tapped his chest under his long-sleeved T-shirt. “This is fine.”
“It’s okay if you get cold. I mean, just let me know, because I brought an extra. Sweatshirt. It’s a men’s, too, extra-large.”
He glanced at her. She was nibbling a thumbnail. “I’ll be fine,” he said, resisting the urge to reassure her, which might be patronizing.
“I’m really looking forward to this.” She clutched her knees.
“I can tell.”
They drove in silence for a little less than an hour, slowed by the typical traffic. They parked in the harbor lot and went in search of their tour company’s dock amid the other tourists. She strode ahead of him a step or two, as if slowing down would break her courage; he couldn’t help himself from admiring her long legs. He looked forward to seeing her take off her shorts.
Take it easy, he told himself, dragging his gaze to the open sea. He felt responsible for her. Like a teacher. Or a therapist. A trusted friend. None of those people would slide his hand down her back until he found round, firm ass and pull her hard against his—
Nicki smacked him on the shoulder with her beach bag. “There’s our boat!”
“There it is,” he agreed.
They gathered with three dozen other people waiting in the morning chill. He looked around curiously, never having gone on a tour with so many people, realizing his parents must’ve paid extra for the small excursions he’d enjoyed over the years.
Finally the herd lunged forward. “Welcome aboard,” a very tan, freckled, middle-aged guy said to them, taking their tickets at the top of the gangplank. “Find a seat. Help yourself to breakfast.”
The ship had two decks and an inside seating area and didn’t look nearly big enough for the three dozen bodies climbing aboard.
At the back of the line, he and Nicki elbowed their way into an inside corner of the crowded boat, forced to stand near a counter filled with doughnuts, fruit, and coffee, since the bench seats were already filled with teenagers and children, retired people, couples, everyone but them.
After a long wait, the boat finally left the dock. Ansel stuck an arm through the crowd grazing at the breakfast counter, plucked a slice of pineapple off a tray, and offered it to her.
“No,” she said. “Thanks.”
“Bagel?”
She shook her head and stared out the blurry window. He could see the whites of her eyes all the way around the pupils, like a doll.
Her anxiety was contagious. He found himself clenching his teeth at each rock of the boat, gripping the windowsill to hold himself steady, hoping the ride out to Molokini wouldn’t be too long or too rough.
“It looks beautiful in pictures,” she said.
“It is.” He smiled, trying to lighten up. “You’ll love it. And don’t worry about drowning—there are so many tourists there that you can just grab on to one of them if you feel yourself going under.”
“I’ll grab you, okay?”
His nerves shifted from fear to lust. Blood returned to his extremities, including his favorite one. Annoyed with himself, he said, “Whatever you need,” and patted her quickly on the shoulder.
A brief smile flashed on her face. She had sexy lips. He liked watching them move. So many emotions in one person, like an overflowing grocery bag.
Or a bucket.
The boat pitched and rolled in the surf, knocking people into one another, although Nicki was holding on to the side of the boat so tightly she barely moved. He regretted not getting ahead of the crowd so she could’ve had a seat. Noticing a mesh bag filled with towels sprawling between two different groups on the bench seating, he sashayed over and asked, already lifting the bag from the seat, “Mind if I move this?” He set it underneath and waved Nicki over.
She shook her head.
“Come on,” he said.
“You take it,” she said. “I’m fine.”
A woman who seemed to be one of the family’s grandmas, with jet black hair and a neon pink T-shirt, scowled at him as he sat next to her. He gave her a huge smile. “Isn’t this fun?” he asked.
Her frown deepened, so he stared cheerfully ahead at Nicki, who was biting back a smile, watching them. For all her worries, she sure seemed happy, always quick to laugh. Testing her, he stuck out his tongue. Sure enough, she smiled and crossed her eyes.
The boat lurched, making one girl scream and a man spill coffee over the bagel tray. Nicki pivoted to grab the door frame to the front deck, her smile fading.
Ansel called out to her. “Come on! Save your energy.”
Without a word, she wobbled over to him and took his seat when he got up. After another few minutes of violent pitching, she looked up at him. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He lost his balance and fell against Grouchy Grandma. “Sorry,” he said, retrieving her white baseball cap from the floor where he’d knocked it and handing it over with his most charming grin.
Grandma clamped a hand on his shoulder, hauled herself up, and staggered over to where a younger man with the same warm expression sat at the end of the row. After a jab in the arm, the young relative got the hint and stood up. Then, when the man walked away to stand on the open deck, Ansel decided Grandma’s old seat was fair game and plopped down into it.
“My mom would spank me,” he said. “Taking an old lady’s seat. I feel kind of guilty.”
“How do you think I feel? Those poor towels have to sit on the floor because of me.”
He leaned against her. “Next time let me book the tour. I know this guy with a catamaran. It’s awesome.”
Awkward silence stretched between them. What was he implying—next week? Next year?
A voice crackled unintelligibly over the speakers. Broken sentences tricked through about wind and waves, an apology, something about turtles. People groaned and looked at each other.
“What’s going on?” Nicki asked, clamping a hand on his thigh.
He was wearing shorts. Her touch sent shivers up his leg. He closed his eyes, clenching his teeth.
“We’re not going to Molokini?” a boy asked.
The man next to him put an arm around his shoulders. “Too windy today. He’s taking us to Turtle Town instead.”
The boy’s mouth opened in outrage. “Can he do that?”
“Guess so,” his dad said. �
��Safety first.”
“That’s stupid,” the boy said.
“I agree,” Nicki said, releasing Ansel’s thigh to stand up.
“Going to complain to the captain?” he asked her, sucking in a breath. Just a few more inches, he’d been thinking.
“Getting a doughnut.” She went over, surprisingly steady on her feet, and got a chocolate glaze, a rainbow sprinkle, and a glass of orange juice, then returned without spilling a drop. “I’m going to drown my sorrows in carbohydrates.”
“As long as you’re drowning,” he said.
She handed him the chocolate one. “Sorry about my choice of boat.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’m cool. This happens. They’ll find somewhere else.”
Since turning around, the boat had steadied, and people got up from their seats to wander out to the decks. Nicki and Ansel stayed where they were until the crew, a young man and two women, one young and one older—all with impossibly perfect bodies—came around with the gear they rented out for an extra fee.
Within five minutes, Nicki held a wet suit, a life jacket, and a boogie board with a round plastic window in the middle of it.
“This thing looks tiny,” she said, holding up the black neoprene suit.
The older woman, who introduced herself as Spike, turned around. “You’ll actually be more comfortable in the water when it’s tight.”
Nicki glanced at the tanned, athletic fiftyish woman with the washboard abs, then at Ansel, and widened her eyes. “Is there a bathroom on board where I can try it on?”
“Yeah, but it’s small. You won’t be able to move around in there,” the woman said, returning Nicki’s credit card with a receipt. “Better just to try it here. Let me know if you can’t squeeze into it. We might have a men’s suit that would fit you.”
When the woman was out on the front deck, Nicki wriggled out of her sweatshirt. “Is it wrong to hate her?”
“Yes.”
She sighed. “How can something wrong feel so right?” In one sudden movement, she pulled her sundress over her head, uncovering a simple black bikini, like an athlete would wear, that he hadn’t seen before. It should’ve been boring, but he stared like an idiot. Her hips, her thighs, her breasts and waist and arms, all of her, was right there under a thin layer of stretchy fabric.
He swallowed. “I don’t know,” he said under his breath, ducking his head. He stared at his hands so she could try it on without him staring, a mercy to himself as much as to her.
After a minute she said, “Forget it,” and he looked up just as she flung the wet suit aside. “I’ll feel like a mummy in that thing. I need to be able to move. And besides, it’s kind of gross, all wet and slimy. God knows what’s living in that fabric. Not that I’m a germaphobe.”
“You’re young,” he said.
“Still time, you mean?”
“Exactly,” he said. “Besides, with the vest, a wet suit is overkill.”
Nicki pointed at him. “Don’t mention death.”
“Sorry.”
She put the life vest on, which would help him keep his gaze above her neck. The legs, though—man, they killed him.
Death again. Her mood was contagious.
The boat stopped near a cluster of other boats, some much smaller, and dropped anchor. Within five minutes, the people were jumping out with their flippers and snorkels, laughing and shouting to one another. Nicki stood at the outskirts of the crowd queuing for the ladder down into the water, her lips in a hard line.
“I wish I could give you a drink,” Ansel said.
She turned suddenly, blinking at him as if she’d just remembered he was there. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she said something too quiet to hear.
“Excuse me?” he asked, heart pounding. He leaned closer.
“Kiss me,” she said. “For good luck.”
Heat exploded inside him. Oh, my pleasure.
No, no, no. She was too vulnerable. He’d never be able to stop. He’d promised he wouldn’t hit on her.
But she’d asked.
“Sure,” he said, stretching his face into a smile, as if it was all a joke, just fun, nothing really. He moved his face to within an inch of hers, close enough to smell her sunscreen. At the last second, he dropped the smile and brushed his lips across hers.
Blood roaring in his ears, he turned away, grabbed the railing of the ladder, and dunked his mask in the freshwater bucket they kept on hand for rinsing. “I’ll get in first so you can grab on to me if you want to.” He didn’t look back at her, just plunged into the water he hoped would cool him down.
Chapter 16
NICKI HAD FELT A LITTLE stupid for asking for the kiss, but if anything was going to distract her from the suffocating tension closing her throat, it would be the feel of his lips. Preemptive mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
It did help. She had a dumb smile on her face as she watched him jump into the water with the others, his swim trunks slung low enough for her to check out the dimples again. He didn’t seem so scary when all she looked at was his butt.
She tested the buckles on her life vest and waddled to the ladder.
“We’ll be right here,” the captain said. “You’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be fine,” Nicki said, lifting a flipper over the edge. The life jacket flattened her breasts. All this gear just to get into the water. To be fair, it had taken eons of evolution to get her ancestors out of the sea, so perhaps it made sense.
People in the water began shouting at each other, waving, splashing around, then disappearing under the surface.
“Turtle,” the captain guessed.
“Oh, good,” Nicki said, sitting on the top rung of the ladder.
“Would you like the board?” he asked. “You can look through the window.”
Facing the Membrane of Terror, she barely heard him. Just push through. There’s a turtle.
She didn’t give a rat’s ass about turtles. But Ansel was down there, swimming close to the boat, though the current kept pushing him away. She couldn’t see his face under the mask, snorkel, and waves, but she knew he had to be smiling that goofy grin of his. Her life had so many drama queens in it—students, fellow teachers, herself—it was great to be with an easygoing, fun-loving person who knew how to enjoy life.
She crept down another rung, felt cold water fill her flippers, chill her toes. Not cold like San Francisco cold, but cold enough. Everyone else was floating facedown or submerged under the surface. The crew member otherwise known as Spike was busy setting up something called Snuba for a couple in their sixties who kept groping each other over the neoprene. Honeymooners, apparently.
She turned around to climb down another two rungs. The boat bobbed up, down, up—and then a wave caught her thighs, and she just let go and let God.
Or Neptune. Whatever.
Well, good news. She wasn’t dead. The life jacket kept her face out of the water, although she was on her back, facing the sky.
No turtles. Nice birds, though.
“How you doing, Nicki?” the captain called out. She’d told him she was a new swimmer and might need a little extra attention, like an airlift.
“Great!” Floating on her back, she decided she was having fun, lots of fun, so much fun.
“The fish are the other way,” Ansel said, paddling closer. “Turn over.”
“I love swimming.” She couldn’t move. How long could she float before something ate her? Perhaps she’d focused too much on drowning as the sole danger. Now her mind raced through the other threats in the sea—vast and ancient, big and small. There were sharks, sure, but what about eels? Weren’t there tiny stinging things than could put you into cardiac arrest?
Oddly, the sensation of living creatures below her in the mighty depths wasn’t so bad. It was the water itself that terrified her.
She continued to float on her back. How far would she get if she didn’t move? The waves seemed to be pushing her away from the boat, parallel to th
e shoreline, which was just close enough to recognize the hair color of the people on the beach. Was it like flying around the moon and some kind of rebound would bring her back? Or would her remains float to one of the continents along the Pacific Rim?
Ansel put a hand on her arm, brought his face close to hers. “I can pull you back to the boat.”
“Not from Seattle,” she said, watching the gulls. She wondered if some birds had malfunctioning brain chemistry that made them afraid of flying. Lifting her head, she scanned the distant beach for little white blobs pacing the sand, imagining one of them was just like her, fretting about his problem, comfortable eating bugs on the beach but knowing there were better snacks if he could just fly like the other birds…
“I’ll pull you in. Hold on to my shoulder if you can.” Ansel’s grip on her arm tightened, waves rolled over them.
“No, I’m fine.” She peeled his fingers off. “I was just getting used to the water. I’m totally fine.” Kicking herself upright, she blew the water out of the snorkel, sucked in a breath, and plopped her face in.
Cloudy green water sparkling with yellow fish. Coral about five feet below her. The sandy bottom around the coral, only about ten feet deep, maybe less. In the distance, the bodies of her fellow tourists, most of them kicking below the water, bubbles rising from their snorkels.
She lifted her face out of the water, spat out the mouthpiece, and smiled at Ansel, who was treading water, watching her.
“What’s the matter?” She had to shout over the sound of the wind, the water in her ears.
Finally, he smiled. “Nothing. Can you see anything? The water’s a little cloudy.”
“I’m fine. I can totally see those little yellow fish.” She replaced her snorkel, breathed, reminded herself she was encased in a life vest, and put her face in the water again. The other people were swimming down to the coral, where she assumed most of the action was. Even without fear, she couldn’t go any deeper without better swimming skills.
She lifted her face back out and said to Ansel, “Go ahead—go down there. I’ll watch you.”
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