by John Ringo
"No," she said, walking forward.
When Courtney got to the bow, he pulled forward, slowly, until he lost sight of the buoy.
"Missed it," Pam called. She was bent over the front rail and it was an entirely pleasant sight.
"Coming up again," Mike called, giving the engine a nudge.
"Got it!" Pam called. She wriggled out from under the rail and hauled on the line. Mike pulled forward a bit more and Courtney got down on the deck with the bowline.
"I got it on!" she yelled. "I got it."
"Get out of the way and let Pam drop the buoy," Mike called, putting the engine in neutral.
"There, that wasn't that bad," he said when he reached the main deck.
"Not bad," Pam said. "Good steering."
"Thanks," he said, getting out the snorkeling gear. He defogged the masks with baby shampoo, fitted the masks for the girls, then found foot fins that fit them.
"You've got a lot of this gear," Courtney said.
"I'd hoped to have visitors, frankly," Mike replied. "So I laid in a lot of stuff I don't have use for. I even . . . well . . ." He paused and grinned sheepishly. "I even laid in stuff in case I had female visitors."
"Tampons and pads?" Pam asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, yeah, but they're for something else," Mike said. "No, I bought some other stuff. Don't think I'm a perv or anything. But . . . well . . . if a young lady ends up unexpectedly spending time on the boat, she'll probably be able to find panties and a bra that fit."
"Really?" Courtney said, laughing. "You're serious."
"Really," Mike said. "Look, I dated a lot when I was younger. A young lady spends time at a gentleman's apartment or whatever and she gets up in the morning and the one thing you can tell she's thinking about is: 'Damn, I've got to put on my underwear from yesterday.' So I laid in supplies."
"That's . . ." Courtney stopped and shrugged. "I guess that makes a lot of sense. If you're incredibly sensitive and forward thinking."
"Forward thinking, yes," Mike said. "Very few people have ever accused me of being sensitive."
"Okay," Courtney said, laughing. "It wasn't intended as an insult."
"What's the other thing that tampons and pads are for?" Pam asked, curiously.
"Let's just say I like being prepared," Mike answered. "And in that vein," he said, pulling out a bottle of Bullfrog 45, "I don't care how much you want a tan when you get home. We go snorkeling for a few hours with your current tan and you're going to burn to a crisp and not even know it until you're back onboard."
"Fine," Pam sighed, turning around and flipping her hair forward. "Do me."
"In a heartbeat," Mike said.
When all three of them were lathered, he swung out the dive ladder. The yacht had a water-level deck for bringing in large fish that the ladder hung down from. He got the girls in their gear then got his own on.
"Just keep the snorkel in your mouth and your body level," he said, slipping over the side. "Pam first. I'll support you at first so you get used to it."
Pam slipped into the water and he held her by the midsection, getting a world-class erection in the process. After a second she pulled her head out of the water and spit out the snorkel.
"That is so cool," she said, grinning.
"To swim around just kick with your fins," Mike said, releasing her. "You okay?"
"Great," she said, putting the snorkel back in and kicking off.
"Me next," Courtney said. "But I think I can do it myself."
"Works," Mike said, kicking backwards and putting on his mask. "After you."
He followed the two girls towards the reef, listening to their snorkel-muffled oaths and amahs and just enjoying himself immensely. Suddenly there was a muffled shriek and Courtney turned around and made a beeline for the boat. Mike beat her back easily and was in the transom by the time she spit out her snorkel and climbed on board.
"There was this big, nasty-looking fish," she said nervously.
"Barracuda," Mike said, nodding. "Not a big deal. They don't attack snorkelers. Well, to be honest I should say hardly ever. Not if you don't have any necklaces or shiny stuff; I checked for that. You're okay."
"You're sure?" she asked.
"I'll go with you," Mike said, sliding into the water and holding out his hand as Pam closed on the boat, too.
"Did you see it?" Pam asked after she spit out her snorkel.
"It's okay," Mike said, shaking his head and trying not to grin. "Three things to remember about barracuda. They're curious, so they follow you around. Don't wave your fingers at them, they might think they're fish. Don't wear shiny necklaces, they look like lures. Oh, and they're fun to catch, but don't eat the big ones."
"Why?" Courtney said, slipping into the water and checking under her with her mask.
"They build up a toxin in their flesh as they get older," Mike said when she'd surfaced. "Makes them poisonous. Come on."
He led both of them by the hand back to the reef and started pointing out particular fish and coral. When the 'cuda cruised back in, he just ignored it, and after a while the 'cuda ignored them.
They snorkeled on the reef for a good hour before Courtney surfaced and spat out her snorkel.
"My shins are killing me," she admitted. "I'm about done."
"Me, too," Pam said.
"Suits," Mike said, glancing at his watch. "Let's do lunch."
Chapter Three
They had sandwiches, sitting at the bar with their suits on.
"Mike, thanks," Pam said, washing down the sandwich with a swallow of Coke. "This is just loads of fun. But I feel like I'm . . . I'm eating your food and using your gas and stuff. This should be costing us money. How much would it cost to rent a boat like this to do this? I mean, I just don't feel right."
"Look, it's just enormous fun having you both here, okay?" Mike said, shrugging. "I feel like I ought to be paying you money it's so much fun."
"How much?" Courtney said, grinning. "And, admit it, you're just hoping to get laid."
"I wouldn't kick you out of bed," Mike said, shrugging and grinning back. "Maybe if you were messy eating crackers. But, no, I'm just having fun watching you guys have fun. It's a real high for a guy to get a girl to smile, and that's a fact. So don't sweat what it would cost. Trust me, I can afford it. I'd take you two to the Bahamas if you asked. Hell, I'd cruise you down to the Virgin Islands if you wanted. You're both very nice young ladies, both in personality and in looks. Consider this boat yours until you have to go home."
"Well, we'll have to leave in a couple of days," Pam said, frowning. "We can't afford to stay in the hotel beyond then."
"Uh, I did say the boat is yours," Mike pointed out diffidently. "There are three open cabins. They're small, but comfortable. If hotel costs are the only thing making you go home, move in. You can still go back whenever you'd like, in two days if you want. But it's stupid to pay for the hotel when you can stay on the boat."
Courtney raised an eyebrow at that and cocked her head.
"No strings?" she asked incredulously.
"I'm not using them," Mike said, shrugging. "I already said I wouldn't kick you out of bed, but I'm not going to drag you there, either. Or attach strings. No strings. Okay, a couple. Leave the cabins in the same shape they were when you got here, which is neat. Help with cooking and the dishes. Help wash down the boat."
"Those aren't what I'd call strings," Pam said, frowning. "That's just being polite."
"There are lots of people in the world who are extremely impolite," Mike said, picking up the paper plates and putting them in the trash. "Are you still checked into the hotel?"
"No, we were going to try to find a cheaper one," Pam said.
"Okay, you decide," Mike said. "But the cabins are yours if you want them."
"What do you plan on doing this afternoon?" Courtney asked.
"I'd like to go fishing, frankly," Mike said.
"I'm not that into fishing," Courtney replied. "But I can catch
a tan."
"If you hook into a sailfish you'll never look back," Mike said, grinning. "But I don't think we will this time of day. If we run out to the Stream we might be able to find some dolphin. Dolphin fish," he added. "They're fun to catch on light tackle. Or we could go after grouper."
"Is this like big-game fishing?" Pam asked. "In a chair with a big rod? I saw those kind of chairs in the back."
"Would be with sailfish," Mike said. "But, like I said, I don't think we'll get any of those today. Maybe tomorrow if we start early. Maybe this evening we might scare some up. Or we can snorkel some more."
"I'm game for fishing," Courtney said, shrugging.
"Let's go, then," Mike said. "We can run out to the Stream and see what we can scare up." He stopped and touched a control, bringing up a text screen.
"What's that?" Pam asked.
"Text version of the national weather reports," Mike said, nodding. "I can read the weather around here pretty well and it didn't look as if anything was coming up. But I didn't want you to find out how crazy it can get on the Stream on your first day out."
"Thanks," Courtney said dryly.
Mike unhooked, then started up and spun the boat to point out to sea. As soon as they were away from the reef, he pushed the throttles forward to maximum and set the autosteer, climbing up onto the tuna tower.
"This is great," Courtney said, climbing up the ladder, followed by Pam.
"This is a great view," Pam said, clutching at the railing as the tower swayed from side to side.
"Sure is," Mike said, gesturing to the seats to either side of the captain's chair. "You can see for miles." He pulled a pair of binoculars out of a case and tracked around the horizon.
"Okay, what are you looking for, now?" Courtney asked.
"Hmmm . . ." Mike said. "Various things. Certain types of birds, splashes at the surface would be nice, debris, weed lines. Stuff."
"Okay," Pam said, then gasped at the sight in the water below. "There's a big . . ."
"Hammerhead," Mike said, lowering the binoculars and looking over her side. "About twelve feet. That's why I like it up here; you can see all sorts of stuff in the water."
"This is so cool," Courtney said, then threw her arms around Mike.
"You're welcome," Mike said uncomfortably. "What was that for?"
"'Cause it's so cool," Courtney said, letting him go. "I was worried you were a jerk when we met in the bar. But you're . . . this is so great!"
"Good," Mike said, smiling. "All that I ask is that you have fun. If there's something that's bugging you, or you've got a problem, just tell me, okay? And I'll see what I can do to fix it. But if you want to thank me, have the maximum amount of fun you can have. That's all the thanks I need."
"Why?" Pam asked, frowning. "That's so weird."
"Because I'm a guy," Mike said, shrugging. "You want the simple answer that's been the answer for centuries? Or do you want the modern answer."
"Both," Pam said, her brow crinkling.
"Okay," Mike said, picking up the binoculars again. "The old, short, answer is that when you're happy, it makes me really happy. There's some sort of quote about a man will give a kingdom to make a woman smile. The face that launched a thousand ships. The whole bit."
"So what's the modern answer?" Courtney asked.
"It takes all the fun, all the soul out of it," Mike said, lowering the binoculars. "But . . . males that see any of several expressions on a female face have an endorphin rush from the sight. It's a form of drug, a high. For that matter, males have an average of forty percent fall-off in long-term decision-making at the sight of a pretty female face. Those are both clinical studies. I could extrapolate from them, but I won't. However, it's definitely the reason that there are topless bars all over the place while things like Chippendales are rare. Women don't have the same reactions. They can be somewhat visual, but they don't have the same chemical reaction. It's called 'thinking with the other head' but it's not. It's just a chemical reaction in the brain. It's real for all that," Mike said. "So if you want to pay me back, just smile. It's worth every moment, every penny."
"So we're a drug?" Courtney asked quizzically.
"A strong one," Mike said, shrugging.
"I can live with that," Pam said. "But I want to help, too."
"I can live with that," Mike replied, and got the expected laugh. "I hereby promote you to deck wench! Your first duty is to see if you can maneuver a beer up here."
"Aye, aye, Captain!" Pam said, grinning. "Courtney, you want anything?"
"I'll take a beer," Courtney said. "If that's okay?"
"Let me check," Mike said, leaning forward and shading the GPS. "By the time she gets back it will be."
"Huh?" Courtney asked.
"Twelve mile limit," Mike replied, grinning. "Technically, this being an American flagged ship, there's still some sort of law. But past the twelve mile limit, nobody cares if I let a minor drink. But don't get hammered."
"Trust me, I won't on one beer," Courtney said.
"Three beers, coming up," Pam said, sliding down the ladder.
"What's the deal with the twelve mile limit?" Courtney asked, curiously.
"Past the twelve-mile limit, we're no longer in U.S. jurisdiction," Mike said. "The reality is that the U.S. owns these waters. They'll stop anyone they want in this region. But the law gets really tricky beyond the limit. And the reality is that things like drinking ages, and gambling, go out the window. Past the twelve mile limit, you're beyond the law. Doesn't matter for you guys, really, but I don't have to worry about getting hassled for contributing."
"Oh," Courtney said, turning around and looking behind them. "Hey, I can just barely see land!"
"Yep," Mike said. "And see how the water is changing?" he added, pointing over the side.
"Getting pretty blue," she said, nodding.
"Not real blue, yet," Mike said. "You'll see."
"Beers," Pam said. "But getting them up there . . ."
Courtney retrieved the Fosters and put them in holders.
"All I could find," Pam said.
"If you're stuck on something else, we'll get it when we get back," Mike said.
"We can at least buy our own beers," Pam said, frowning.
"Ah, ah," Mike said. "And take all my fun away?"
"This is good," Courtney said, taking a swig of the Fosters and rolling the cap in her hand. "Trash?"
Mike took it from her and flicked it over the side.
"Don't look so shocked," he said, grinning. "It'll sink to the bottom and decompose. Little fish will use it for shelter in the meantime. You don't want to deprive them, do you?"
"I'm just so kneejerk about littering," Pam said, then tossed hers over the side. "But that felt really fun."
"Simple guilty pleasures are the most fun," Mike said, flicking his over the side. "Better than complicated guilty pleasures."
"What are complicated guilty pleasures?" Courtney asked.
"Think about it," Mike replied, grinning. "What, you don't have any complicated guilty pleasures?"
"I'm lost here," Pam admitted. "Could you explain?"
"Not without getting more graphic than I'd like to," Mike said. "But I'll ask a rhetorical question: What do you fantasize about when you masturbate?" He looked from side to side and nodded. "The light dawns. Those can be very complicated guilty pleasures. And don't ask me, nonrhetorically, please."
"I won't," Courtney said, blushing. "But, you know, complicated guilty pleasures can be fun, too," she added, wiggling from side to side.
"Don't tease an old dog," Mike said. "He might have one bite left."
"So what are your complicated guilty pleasures, Mike?" Courtney asked coquettishly.
"I told you not to tease," Mike said, frowning. "Some of my guilty pleasures are really complicated. And really dark. I don't think we know each other well enough to get into them. But I'll tell you one: I've serviced a few targets in my day, and if I've got a regret, it's that I pr
obably won't be able to service any more."
"Serviced targets?" Pam asked carefully.
"Killed bad guys," Mike answered. "I don't get any nightmares from serviced targets, even the ones that I've had to look at for some time. Screwed-up ops, I flashback on those. I had a bad one in Rumrunners the night I met you two. But targets? No problem."
That provoked a rather long silence.
"Okay, now I'm having some problems," Courtney said finally. "I hadn't really internalized that I was out in a boat with a guy who used to kill people for a living. Has actually killed people, is what I mean."
"Bad guys," Mike said. "But, yeah, I told you not to tease an old dog. If you want to turn around I will," he said, reaching for the wheel.
"No," Courtney said, leaning forward and touching his hand. "Don't. It just takes some getting used to. But I'd guess that with what happened to you," she said, gesturing at the scars, "some of the same things happened to . . . targets."
"Quite a few," Mike said, having a clear image of the stairway. "But there are some very bad people in the world that desperately need servicing."
"Syria," Pam said, darkly.
"That was one of those good missions," Mike admitted. "Very clear cut. But those aren't the only bad people in the world, ladies."
Courtney leaned over and laid her hand on his shoulder, then leaned further over to kiss his cheek.
"Thank you for servicing targets," she said, rubbing his shoulder. "And I won't tease you about your complicated guilty pleasures. Much."
"If you do I'll tease you right back," Mike said, grinning. "I spent a lot of time in the body and fender shop. And the only thing to read was what the nurses had, which were very very trashy romances. Based on those . . ."
"Don't go there," Courtney said, leaning back and laughing. "I'll definitely stop teasing."
"Birds," Mike said, picking up the binoculars and focusing them in. "Yeah, they're feeding on a surface shoal." He put his feet down and touched the wheel, turning the boat to starboard slowly. Even with his care, the tuna tower still leaned to the side.
"Whoa!" Pam said, grasping the rail. "That's a little . . ."
"Exciting?" Mike asked, straightening out. "Courtney, think you can take the wheel?"