73
The water is exactly what I need; it’s cooler than yesterday because of the early hour, and even though I’m tired, it helps rejuvenate me. I love the ocean; the peace it brings me is unparalleled to anything I’ve ever felt, maybe because there are no oceans in my past, no childhood traumas in the sea.
I eventually haul myself onto the yacht, walk along the lower deck to my bedroom, dry off and get dressed. As I pass Jake’s room, next to mine, I notice that the door is ajar. It was closed this morning; he must have come inside. I peek into the darkened room, and I can make out his still form in the bed, the heavy, calm breathing indicating he’s asleep, and I suddenly get stupidly emotional.
My Jake, my friend stroke boss, whatever he is, ignites some maternal urge in my belly when he looks so still and peaceful.
I can almost make out his face in the dark; he’s just so damned cute when he’s asleep like this, irresistible in a completely different way to his wakened self, vulnerable and young. He sleeps in a way I would expect him to: childishly sprawled over the whole bed, taking ownership with cushions strewn and sheets tangled in his limbs. No wonder he wrapped himself around me in Chicago; he’s a bed-hogger. He’s face down, lying diagonally from corner to corner, his arms sprawled out, his fingers hanging over the edge of the mattress. Despite the heat, he’s in his sweats and T-shirt, and I’m hit with a tug of disappointment at not glimpsing some naked flesh. There is something innocent about this spectacle, as though he came in and flopped down to sleep in any way he landed. It makes my heart twinge with adoration, and I close the door gently and head to my room to get changed.
***
Breakfast on deck is amazing after the swim: pancakes and syrup with a fruit cocktail. We have a cook on the yacht who’s only too willing to send food our way whenever we beckon. I like this bonus of being with a super-rich guy, being with Jake. Wherever we go, I’m always well fed and never have to cook or clean up.
Definitely a perk!
I cast my mind back over yesterday and inwardly hope the next two weeks are not as eventful as our first couple of days here; I may need a vacation to recover from my vacation.
After finishing breakfast, I dig out a book and return to the lounger, trying to put the events all down in one file labeled ‘crazy drunken night’ to stow away in the recesses of my brain. I’m sure most people have those kinds of nights and manage to get past them quickly. It’s what I intend to do.
I don’t expect to see any of the others up at this hour; most stayed up long after the chopper left, and I’m unsure when they finally went to bed. It had been a traumatic night for all of us, and Leila was particularly hysterical.
I manage a few pages of my book before my eyes get heavy, and I lay it across my face to shield myself from the sun; a nap would be good, five minutes of shut-eye. Exhaustion finally catches up with me, and I don’t need to try and force it as I start to slide away.
***
I’m vaguely conscious that the shadowing book on my face has been moved away, but I’m still sleepy and don’t want to open my eyes to be assaulted by the glaring brightness. A warm sensation runs across my cheek, igniting goosebumps, and removes the tickling hair bothering me in the mild breeze.
Now that the sun is no longer screened from my eyelids, I’m starting to awaken fully and register that my book has been removed. I blink my eyes open groggily and am faced with a dark figure leaning over me, the sun behind his head. I know without focusing, it’s Jake. I can just tell.
“Hey.” He sounds husky, like he’s not long awake.
“Hey.” I sound husky, too, except I really have just woken up.
“You shouldn’t sleep in the sun,” he scolds gently, and I blink up at him, trying to make out his face, but I can’t.
“I didn’t intend to,” I say, knowing that’s not entirely true. I squint and pause as he slides his sunglasses on me in a smooth movement. It annoys me that I can’t make out his face, as it’s so cast in darkness in contrast to the blazing circle of light behind him.
I smile involuntarily like I always do when he does this.
Oh, Jake.
“Want to go somewhere?” His voice is uncharacteristically quiet, and he seems to be looking off to the side at something, distracted. It makes my heart expand with a pang; I hate seeing him so deflated, and the urge to fix him wells up inside me.
“Such as?” I push softly.
He shrugs and tilts his head up, looking away from the direction that first caught his attention across the water. He’s sitting on the lounger; that’s why he’s towering over me, one arm bridging across my body, holding his weight. Present, yet he seems so far away.
“Anywhere but here.” His voice is detached.
I bite my lip. He sounds uptight; maybe I was wrong about Daniel. Perhaps he’s not okay, and Jake’s mulling it over.
“How’s Hunter?” I ask gently. I don’t like Jake this way, and he’s making me edgy. He turns back to me and visibly relaxes a little.
“He’s fine. He will be. They just need to monitor him; secondary drowning is a risk when you swallow as much water as he did.” He says it lightly, no untruth on his face, as though he isn’t worried about Hunter’s recovery, yet his mood is unexplainable. Maybe he’s just tired still.
“Secondary drowning?” I query. I have never heard of it.
“You can drown long after you come out of the water; it’s in your lungs still.” He tenses, and I know he doesn’t want to talk about it. I vaguely remember a conversation where he told me one of his friends, in their teens, drowned after a boat party. I wonder if it still hurts him. The thought makes me long to wrap my arms around him and squeeze it away, taking away this somber mood he seems to be in.
“So, where will we go?” I change the subject instead.
“We could drive somewhere.” He’s back to watching the horizon, distant and distracted. I don’t think there’s any chance he’ll bring up last night; he seems preoccupied and down.
“Okay.” I just want to get him out of this funk, and maybe going out will do that. I move to sit up, and he steadily gets out of my way.
“Shall I get changed?” I motion at my clothes.
He shakes his head, looking over my floaty dress and sandals with no hint of a facial response. Not like him at all.
“No. You look perfect.” His eyes flicker down the length of me again, so I smile and indicate I’m going to put my book in my room, sliding off the lounger and quickly leaving, stressed over his mood.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
