I lay in bed for hours recalling every detail of the night—David’s voice, his eyes, his warm and spicy scent. The feeling in my belly is warm and jittery. It’s a feeling I’d never had about a guy. Not with Austin and definitely not with Leo.
And tomorrow we were going out on a boat? Is this all too good to be true? David is way out of my league. Is he a con artist? I should have asked him more about his job of ‘managing money.’ What does that mean? He’s so smooth and confident. Maybe too confident. Too smooth. Do I have ‘small town idiot’ written all over my face? Am I being taken on a horrifying ride?
I have to remind myself to stay on my guard with him tomorrow, or I could very well fall for David, and then what? I’ve trusted a man before and was left high and dry.
Maybe I should have said no.
DAVID
As I walk away from her apartment building and settle in the back of my waiting car, I can’t shake how very different Talia is. Probably why I asked her out for a second date when I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had more than one date with a woman. Most of the time, girls are throwing themselves at me, inviting me up to their apartment or arranging the next date even if I’ve seemed disinterested all along.
Talia didn’t do any of that. In fact, she seemed hesitant even to accept the second date after I thought dinner went very well.
Slipping into the back seat of my car, my driver doesn’t miss my grin.
“I take it things went well, boss?” he asks with a smirk. He knows my dating habits better than anyone. He’s driven my dates and me on most of them.
“Taking her out again tomorrow.”
I see Chip’s eyebrows fly up in the rearview mirror. “Oh really?”
“On your boat.”
“Excuse me, my boat?”
“I can’t let her know the Princess Bonnie is mine. I’m going to tell her it’s yours, and you’re letting me borrow it.”
“I don’t get it. Why?”
“She has no idea who I am. Do you know how rare that is? The more I can get to know her before she finds out who I am, the more I can trust that she likes me for me.”
“Sounds like a dangerous game, sir.”
I shrug. I know he’s right. I don’t like the whole dishonesty thing, but I am enjoying getting to know Talia, and I am loving being able to control the narrative of who I am.
I can’t help but wonder why she is so guarded. I’m grateful that she accepted for tomorrow, but I will definitely have to take things slowly with her. I don’t want to do something to make her bolt. I lift my jacket and can smell her perfume on the collar. If I don’t watch myself, I could find myself in territory I wasn’t expecting to be in.
After Angelique, I swore I’d never fall in love again. She betrayed me in a way I never imagined. Most of the women I’ve dated were easy not to fall for. They were either distracted by sparkly things or clearly looking for ways my family or I could benefit her. Chip liked to call it Princess Syndrome. Talia is no princess. She’s down to earth. But what is she hiding?
13
The Boat
CRYSTAL
I wake Saturday morning as the sun washes over my face. I love waking up naturally without an alarm or anyone to look in on.
I roll over and look at the clock. Seeing that it’s already a quarter after nine, I jump out of bed in a near panic. David will be picking me up in less than an hour. I dash into the kitchen and make myself a quick cup of coffee with the apartment’s Keurig coffee maker, butter a piece of bread, not even taking the time to toast it first, then run into the shower and make quick work primping for my second date with David. Or is it my third date? The drinks counted, right? So, I’m getting ready for my third date in as many days. Wow! Things move a lot faster here in Chicago than they do back home.
It’s ten to ten when my phone chimes with a text. I’m flustered that David is early, but looking at the screen, I see the text is from Lainey asking what I’m doing today and if I want to join her and Lance who were going to go rollerblading along the shore. I thank her for the invitation but decline simply saying I have plans. She replies quickly, asking, With David?
My heart pounds with the thoughts, both good and fearful, of spending the day with him. Yes. I’ll fill you in tonight?
Lainey’s reply is, as always, quick. Count on it! Be safe!
Safe. Yes. Maybe this was a stupid idea.
How many layers of ‘unsafe’ was I flirting with?
Setting sail with a man I barely know, known only for three days, onto a lake where there probably isn’t any cell reception.
I know how to swim from summers at the quarry that had been filled in serving as the town’s swimming pool, but I am not a terribly strong swimmer. What if the boat capsizes? Would I look like an idiot if I insisted on wearing a life vest the whole time?
I really like David, but he’s out of my league. Will he dump me the instant he finds out I’m just trailer trash from southern Illinois?
Or is David really who he says he is? I feel like he’s not being fully honest.
There are probably other dangers I’m not even considering at the moment. I’m about to text David that I’ve changed my mind when the concierge phone in my apartment rings—the phone that is connected to the doorman down in the lobby. Tentatively, I pick up the phone.
“Miss Jameson, this is Eric,” the polite voice says smoothly. “Mr. Redding is here for you.”
My heart starts to pound almost painfully in my chest. “Um, okay,” I respond nervously. “Tell him I’ll be right down.”
“Of course, miss,” he says then disconnects the call.
I run to the bedroom and look myself over in the mirrored closet doors. I’d chosen to wear the loose-fitting, white linen drawstring pants and the navy tank top along with the gladiator sandals I had bought with Lainey yesterday. Underneath, I had put on my old, light pink tankini swimsuit. I bought it a couple of years ago and had only worn it a few times but had every intention of keeping this old thing under the new clothing. Besides, I don’t think I’d have the nerve to swim in the lake anyway. I check my ponytail that I have pulled up tight and high at the back of my head wondering if it was too juvenile to wear my hair that way, but the idea of it getting all knotted on the windy lake isn’t appealing. I decide to forego all makeup because, first of all, I don’t have time to do much especially since I don’t really know what I’m doing. Secondly, in case I fall off the boat, I don’t want to end up looking like a raccoon with the wet mascara.
I shrug at my reflection hoping I look the part of a confident, seafaring woman and head down to the lobby where the sight of David takes my breath away again.
While yesterday and the day before David was in a suit, which fit him perfectly, today he’s wearing a snug-fitting white polo shirt and a pair of gray board shorts. His hair was brushed neatly in place the past couple days, but today is loose and casual, soft waves crowning his head. My fingers itch to run through the locks to see if they are as silky as they look.
When he sees me, he grins. I swoon a little and no longer feel underdressed.
“Every time I see you, you look better and better.” He steps in and kisses my cheek with an arm possessively around my waist. “Ready for a day on the lake?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be!”
“I’ll check on the boat, sir?” Chip, David’s friend, says after he parks the car at the marina.
“Sir.” David laughs a little awkwardly, then adds, “You’re funny, Chip. I’ve got it. Don’t let us keep you and thanks for the ride, man. And letting us use your boat.”
Chip shrugs, shaking his head and laughing to himself, yet looking a little annoyed, before heading off toward the rows of bobbing boats. He had driven us here to the marina. I thought maybe he was hoping to hang out with us on the boat for the day. Chip isn’t a very talkative guy, but friendly enough. It felt weird that David and I were seated in the back like Chip was some kind of chauffeur, which I guess is why C
hip was joking and calling David ‘sir.’ I almost suggest Chip join us but figured David probably asked him already.
David takes my hand, and my body heats and tingles at his touch. He leads us to the docks, and I’m awestruck with the fancy boats bobbing all around us. Some are large like houses, some have motors, and some are purely sailing boats. David stops us in front of a sailboat and not a small one either.
Before David and I step onboard the Princess Bonnie, a ‘thirty-nine-footer,’ David informs me, of beautiful natural woods which are highly shellacked, David first outfits me in a bright red life vest. Maybe I wasn’t as good at hiding my nerves at my weak swimming abilities as I had hoped on the drive here, but as he snugs the straps on the bulky vest, his scent surrounds me making me sway more than the motion of the dock where the boat is moored, and I’m even more grateful for the preserver.
A quick tour of the vessel while we’re still tied to the docks at the Belmont Harbor reveals that this is no ordinary sailboat. No. This is more like a sailing yacht. On the upper deck, there are the sails, two of them, and something like a ‘sunken’ living room although the word ‘sunken’ probably shouldn’t be used with a boat, with two long curved ‘sofas’ large enough to seat at least eight people with a table secured between them. Out front, there’s an expansive deck to sit on and enjoy the scenery. Down in the ‘hatch’ are two bedrooms and another living room with a small kitchen. It’s like a whole house here! The master bedroom even has its own bathroom. I imagine it must be nice to have friends who have a boat like this to borrow.
My thoughts quickly jump to the beds in those bedrooms and wonder if David has designs on using them today. I want to be a ‘good girl,’ but I doubt I will have much strength to deny him if he makes any moves. Not only is David so handsome and smells so good, he’s been so kind and fun to get to know.
Over the next half hour, David instructs me on the basics of sailing—the aft, the bow, jibing and tacking, and so on. He teaches me how to raise the sail and adjust the boom to catch the wind and set us in the direction we want to go along with the rudder.
I have to admit that I’m not a very good sailing student since I don’t hear everything David says. His appearance today is nothing like it was the past two days, and I’m utterly distracted by his muscles which bunch and strain as he grips and pulls the ropes in tandem with his biceps that I’d not been able to appreciate in his suit. I feel like a horny teenage girl watching his hair blow in the wind and his muscles flex when he shifts his weight countering the waves rocking the boat, or when he steps from one side of the deck to the other and ducking under the boom.
Very soon, he has me sitting at the rudder guiding us out toward the middle of the lake while he mans the sails. It’s exhilarating to harness the wind in such a way, and I find myself thinking about the maritime classic of Treasure Island, and when I tell him that, David reveals that it’s one of his favorite books as well.
Once we get a fair distance from the shore, David asks, “Hungry for lunch?”
Having only had that piece of buttered bread and a cup of coffee hours ago, I’m famished, but instead, I say, “I could eat.”
David loosens the slack on the mainsail and has me hold the rudder steady while he lowers the anchor. The boat steadies, and David ducks down below returning moments later with a genuine picnic basket. He escorts me to the ‘living room’ on the upper deck and starts to unpack everything on the table in the center of the seating while I remove my life vest feeling more comfortable now that the vessel isn’t moving and quite confident with David’s seafaring ways. Besides, sitting with it on is downright uncomfortable.
He produces several packages wrapped in white paper, two containers, and a loaf of bread. Next, he pulls out two wine glasses and a bottle of white wine. I eye the wine nervously. How do I tell him I don’t drink without looking like some baby or party pooper?
David opens the white paper packages onto a large wooden cutting block and tells me about each of the cheeses as he unwraps them—brie, goat, Roquefort, and parmesan which he says is great with prosciutto which he unveils last. The bread is pre-sliced, and he sets that next to the cheeses, then he opens two small containers, one with grapes and the other with sliced apples and pears.
The spread is so elegant and at the same time, intimidating. I knew only a few kinds of cheese—cheddar, mozzarella, and American—none of which are laid out before me. I hope I like these and don’t embarrass myself.
David pours us each a glass of wine, and my nerves hit an all-time high. Handing me a glass, he raises his. “To new beginnings with fascinating and beautiful company,” he says, his gaze staring right into my soul.
I watch as he sips his wine, then his tongue sweeps across his lip collecting any leftover drips. Those lips… that tongue. This whole scenario is doing me in. The gentle lapping of the waves on the lake softly rocking the boat, the warm breeze, and the incredibly gorgeous company. Yet, the wine in my hand has my belly filled with dread. Should I just drink it?
Fearful and swooning, David’s voice breaks into what feels like a very vivid daydream.
“Not a fan of white wine?” David asks, concern on his brow. I look down at my glass anxiously. “Wait. You drank Diet Coke last night. And the night before. You are over twenty-one, right?”
I laugh in spite of my nerves. “Yes. Over twenty-one. I’m twenty-four.”
“Phew,” he breathes. His easy smile returns. “I was worried I was about to get arrested for encouraging underage drinking and serving a minor.”
“Um, no,” I say, trying to figure out a way to say what I need to say next. I look into David’s caring brown eyes and exhale. “Long story, but, I don’t drink.”
“As in you don’t drink wine? Or not at all?”
“Not at all,” I say, my voice sounding small. My reasons for not drinking are sound. My biggest fear is that I’ll be addicted like my mother is, or was, I hope. But I can’t tell David that. I don’t want him thinking that because I have a loser mother, I’m not worth anything.
Gently, and seemingly without judgment, David gently takes the glass from my hand. “You don’t have to tell me why,” he says as I can see him successfully reading my face that I’m pained to admit what is behind my reservations. “What can I get you? The fridge downstairs has soft drinks and water.”
“Either sound great.”
“You got it.”
He sets my wine glass in the cup holder next to his then disappears. I take that moment and attempt to calm myself. I close my eyes and lean back and feel the warm sun on my face.
DAVID
When I come back topside, I’m stunned. I can’t move as I see Talia reclining in the sun. She has been beautiful every time I’ve seen her, even last night when she was wearing makeup, but now? As she lies there in the light without any makeup, just her natural, beautiful self, I’m feeling like I have had way more than one sip of wine.
Her chestnut hair catches the sunlight and reflects the brilliance twice as bright revealing blonde highlights I’d not even noticed before. Her profile is beguiling with her petite nose, a delicate mouth that I’m dying to kiss, and high cheekbones. Her skin practically glows, and if I hadn’t smelled her sunblock and watched her reapply already, I would worry about her getting burned by the strong afternoon rays as we bob in the water. But what has me most mesmerized is her elegant neckline—smooth and graceful and gently sloping down to her breasts which rise and fall with her breathing. Everything about her is fluid and natural. No silicone. Nothing ‘enhanced’ by clothing or surgery or makeup. Unpretentious.
My fingers burn as they imagine running through her silky hair or caressing her radiant skin.
I’m surprising myself. After my disastrous marriage, I never wanted to get serious about another girl. Now I'm finding myself spying on Talia and thinking about all the things I’d like to do to her.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, or maybe she felt me ogling her, her eyes fly open, and she swin
gs her gaze around to me, and I am busted.
“Hey,” she says looking at me shyly and blushing, at least I hope she’s blushing and not sunburned.
“Lucked out,” I say holding up the two bottles. “Water and Diet Coke.”
CRYSTAL
When I recover from the shock of finding David staring at me, I smile, and he strides toward me. I choose the water, and he cracks it open and takes his seat and then fills a fresh wine glass with the water. I wonder if he’s thinking about why I don’t drink. Does he think I’m a recovering alcoholic? God, I hope not.
Lunch continues, the two of us talking easily. I do all I can to answer his questions to me as quickly and simply as possible and encourage David to talk about himself. Not only do I love the sound of his voice, his life— a world of high finance and traveling—sounds so happy and exciting and infinitely more interesting than my life.
Listening to David talk about the ski vacation he went on with some friends this past winter in Vail, Colorado, my insecurities come flooding to the forefront of my mind. This isn’t my life. His life is like Lainey and her friends. I don’t know what I would do on a ski vacation. I’m barely coordinated enough to ride a bike let alone race down the side of a mountain on two skinny boards attached to my feet. I’m not a fancy cheese and wine person—especially not wine. I’m not sailing yachts and afternoons lazing on a lake. I work. Or, used to and want to again. I eat macaroni and cheese from a box. True that I now have money, but that doesn’t change who I am, does it?
Furthermore, I’m feeling like I’m being pulled into a web. Like Leo luring me to Tennessee.
Win for Love Page 14