74
I check my reflection, noting I’ve majorly caught the sun during my time here. I’m glowing and tanned. My hair has developed some new highlights among my chemical ones, which catch the light, giving me a blonder look.
I grab my bag and chuck in the everyday essentials: cell, book, sunscreen, and sunglasses, despite Jake giving me his. I put his back on my face instead of my own; I like having them on as a reminder of how well he takes care of me.
I’m ready and meet him back on deck quickly. Now I can see him standing and not cast in shadow; he’s in jeans and a T-shirt, with that superman body; his hair is still damp. He’s had a shower or been for a swim before waking me. He appears relaxed and casual, as usual. I’m always in awe of the way his clothes sculpt his powerful body; it should be illegal to look that good in everyday wear.
He smiles as I close the gap between us. He automatically ruffles my hair, lingering to twirl a strand, before he makes me follow him down to the lower deck behind him. He seems in a better mood already as we head to the back of the yacht, where a small speed boat is anchored, ready and waiting.
***
His father keeps a car ashore for mainland visits, and Jake’s as good at driving the low, rumbling sports car as he is the speedboat, effortlessly confident and capable, and it’s kind of seductive. Seeing a man capable of driving an expensive, powerful machine is a turn-on. He drives fast, but I don’t feel unsafe. He molds to the roads and the curves like a pro while I’m left to ogle the surroundings in awe. The scenery is breathtaking, and we don’t talk much as music blares from the speakers, wind in my hair from the open roof.
We don’t need to talk; we mastered this companionable silence through forced proximity long ago, and I’m glad of it now. We have scatterings of meaningless small talk but mostly quiet. I glance at his profile and watch the concentration etched on his face; he’s too handsome to be real sometimes.
I can’t help but linger on his mouth and get lost in the memory of how his kiss had felt last night, of how it had made me feel. Allowing myself the brief memories before guilt and shame push them away. He glances my way, catches my eye, and smiles, all soft and relaxed, and I can’t help but return it shyly. Sometimes he just looks so young, so welcoming, and I forget that he is my boss, that this is beyond complicated and could never work.
We still haven’t spoken about last night, and I’m not sure I want to; in fact, I don’t. I want to forget it happened, forget what it felt like, and act like everything is the same. I need this job; I need my mental faculties to deal with this job, and I feel that going to bed with Jake would probably alter that for an eternity. He’s watching the road again, so I relax back in my seat, sighing.
This is so not simple at all, and I ponder so many things.
My friendship, career, and fear of being used and hurt. Just fear.
My inability to let a man in or trust him fully, there’s no simple solution when it comes to Jake and me. He’s the poster child for casual sex and commitment phobia. Complicating everything last night with drunkenness was stupid. I try and focus on the scenery to clear my mind and not dwell on this, but he hasn’t even told me where we’re going.
“So, are we literally just driving then?” I ask brightly; he’s uber-focused on the road and giving off a weird vibe.
“Nope.” He’s still in that weird mood, preoccupied and tetchy, monosyllabic despite seeming okay at first.
“No clues?” I try, irritation rising. Jake doesn’t do vague very often, and I don’t like it when he does. I hate vagueness and surprises.
“None!”
Hmmm.
“How do you know I’ll like it?” I try a different approach to coax answers, shoving down the surge of annoyance in the pit of my stomach. He only shrugs.
Why is he being so … so pissy and closed off, for God's sake?
“It’s not fun, is it?” he responds. There’s a tightness to his voice, but he’s keeping his focus steady on the road still.
“What?” I snap back around, catching his face turned to me for a second, his eyes narrowed; he looks minorly pissed off.
What the hell? Where did that come from?
“Being closed out.” He has a hint of humor in his eye now, but I know he’s being serious, sarcastic, and not friendly. I frown at him and go back to my sight-seeing, confused by his manner, trying hard not to rise to it and inwardly churning up with anxiety.
“What does it take, Emma?” That edgy tone in his voice betrays a lousy mood looming up.
Why today?
I curse inwardly. Jake’s negative moods are the worst; maybe he’s hungover and still tired. He shifts gear as we round a rather craggy coastal turn, focusing on the road, his brows furrowed and a tightness to his jaw that screams of tension.
“Jake, please … what are you talking about?” I squirm in my seat and adjust my clothes to distract from the awkwardness of my movement.
How have I closed him out? He’s seen more of me, knows more of me than anyone on the planet. Does he not see that?
“You’re not even going to mention last night? Is that another conversation over?” he snaps, and I bristle.
“You didn’t mention it either,” I spit back, a little too aggressively, riled up by this attack; it’s like he’s getting his period.
“I was waiting to see if you would,” he retorts, eyes cool green and face tense; he’s in stubborn and challenging mode.
Great!
“Why?” I snap, but he just shrugs again.
Oh my god.
He can be so infuriating. I think he’s still exhausted for sure, and he’s being crabby as hell. I don’t want to fight; I want to go back to playful, fun Jake. This is not the little outing I was expecting.
“Jake, it shouldn’t have happened; we crossed a line,” I plead, trying to make him see sense, stop this fiery conversation and get back to something lighter.
“And there she is! Right back to square one.” The sarcasm is thick in his tone, his body stiffening in his seat.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I turn to him angrily.
“Anytime you get close, Emma, even a hint of letting go, you snap right back in and shut the door. No conversation, no acknowledgment of it; just wham. Over!” he barks at me, all hope of not fighting out the window, and my emotions tank.
“What?” I hiss with a sarcastic laugh. “Because I won’t sleep with my boss, I’m not letting myself go? That’s being closed off?” I turn away, anger flaming my face, downright furious now.
Fuck you, Carrero. Why is it always about sex with him?
“I don’t think there was any doubt about it last night. That’s not the issue; it’s the afterward, Emma.” His voice is laced with venom, anger seething from every pore, his body tense. I stay silent, anger prickling my scalp. I’m as wound up as him now.
“I was drunk, being stupid; anyone can make a mistake,” I huff.
Stop being an asshole and ruining this.
I shift in my seat to turn away from him, trying to face the side window fully. I’m suddenly thrust forward as he slams on the brakes, and we screech to a halt, kicking up dust and stone around the car, throwing everything loose toward the front with a violent clatter.
What the hell?
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