Still, no matter how attractive I find him, I cannot and will not fall into bed with him.
No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, sex always complicates things.
I knew that getting ready for tonight, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t take me longer than I’d like to admit picking out something to wear. It’s extra ridiculous because I am so not that kind of girl normally.
I settled on my favorite pair of coral shorts and a simple, oversized white tee. I have my coveralls stuffed into my bag along with some tools in case I really have to get into things working on his motor.
I wipe my hands over my shorts, trying to kick the nerves, but it’s no use. My heart is still fluttering a mile a minute.
Is this a good idea? No.
Do I have any other choice after opening my big mouth before thinking? Also no.
Will I regret this? Almost certainly.
Though it’s a Tuesday night, it’s busy down on the docks. Charter boats are coming in from fishing all day and tourists are milling about, looking at the big docked vessels or trying to catch a glimpse of the sea life that tends to pop up near here from time to time.
I squeeze past some guys unloading fishing gear, and then I see it—the flag Sully mentioned.
He’s right. You can’t miss it.
Attached to the end of his houseboat is a giant flag waving in the air that reads: I’m on a boat, MFer.
A laugh bubbles out of me just as Sully emerges from the cabin…shirtless.
I clamp my hand over my mouth, ducking behind a pillar like I’m Joe Goldberg looking for my next victim.
I peek around, watching his bronzed skin glisten with sweat as he moves around the deck, his hands full of I don’t even know what.
I could tell before that Sully had a good amount of muscle on him, but I wasn’t prepared to see it. He’s so…solid. Toned. He doesn’t look like he spends hours in the gym, but it’s clear he lives an active life.
“He’s a looker, huh?”
I jump at the sudden voice beside me, letting out a surprised squeak. “You scared the crap outta me, Mrs. Harkle!”
The older lady grins, a gold tooth shining bright from the corner of her mouth. “Caught you peekin’, did I?”
I bite my lip, not wanting to admit I was checking Sully out.
Mrs. Harkle, a woman I’m sure is as old as the structure we’re standing on herself, laughs. “It’s okay, darlin’. Like I said, he’s a looker. You wouldn’t be the first person to stop on these docks and take a peek at the show that man puts on. Heck, he’s so lost in his little world half the time, I don’t think he even realizes he has all these tongues waggin’ like he does.”
I’m sure she’s not wrong. Sully is damn fine-looking, and I bet he draws a lot of eyes just by doing whatever mundane task he’s up to now.
She leans into me. “Golly, what I’d give to be young again and say hello to him, if you know what I’m sayin’.” She wags her brows up and down, poking me with her elbow.
I chuckle at her. “You’re an old horndog, Mrs. Harkle.”
“Why do you think Stanley kept me around?” she asks, referring to her husband, who passed away a couple years ago. She waves a hand over her body. “It wasn’t for my saggin’ bags.”
I nearly choke on my laugh, though I shouldn’t be surprised. Janet Harkle has never been one to mince words or try to put on airs. She is who she is, all sass and inappropriate comments. Of all the old folks in town, she’s always been my favorite because she’s never once judged me for being who I am.
I’d never tell the old bat for fear it would go to her head, but I aspire to be as cool as her when I’m her age.
“Well, are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna go say hi to the man?” She points over my shoulder. “He’s staring right at you.”
I peer over my shoulder, and she’s right—Sully is looking right at me.
I turn back to my surprise guest. “It was as great as ever seeing you, Mrs. Harkle. Try to stay out of trouble…and off young men’s boats, huh?”
“I make no promises, little Thea. Good luck with the hunk.” There’s a twinkle in her eye as she saunters off.
Shaking my head at her, I turn on my heel and continue toward Sully’s boat.
He’s still standing on the top deck, looking down at me with his hands on his hips and a small grin pulling at his mouth.
“Hey,” he says when I approach. “You’re here!”
“Yep, and I brought my flippy-floppies.”
His eyes fall to the flag swaying in the ocean breeze. “Lonely Island fan?”
“Isn’t everyone?” I counter.
“It was a housewarming gift from my friends.” He shakes his head, his lips pressing together like he’s ashamed of them, but the twitching gives away his urge to laugh. “You’re early.”
“Here’s a Thea tidbit,” I say, covering my eyes to look up at him. “I’m punctual, and in my book, punctual means five minutes early. If I’m on time, I’m late.”
“What is this, the military?”
I sigh. “Can I come aboard? Or do I have to stand out here and sweat to death?”
His grin widens. “Hop on and come around. I’ll meet you at the stern.”
I’m not overly versed in boat lingo, but I know he’s talking about the back of the boat.
I step onto the deck, studying my surroundings. It’s an older vessel—that much is obvious by the design—but it’s in excellent condition considering it’s likely over twenty years old. The lower deck is small, and aside from the pile of tarps lying in the corner, it’s clean.
I find my way around the boat and emerge on the stern just as Sully descends the stairs.
His muscles move and pull as he carefully climbs down, a rolled rug in his hands.
“Need a hand?” I offer.
“I’m good, thanks.” He tosses the mat to the side and looks at me, smiling.
He does that a lot—smiles.
There’s a small part of me that finds it annoying given the awkwardness of our situation. The other part…well, it’s hot, okay? His smirk is stupid fucking sexy. His lips are full and shaped just right, his teeth bright and straight. It’s one of those grins you see on a happy-go-lucky ad where some dude is trying to sell you a car or something.
“Hey,” he says again. He’s still missing his shirt, and I’m trying hard not to check him out, but it’s difficult when I’m standing this close to him, especially when he’s wearing nothing but a pair of navy boardshorts and his backward cap.
“Hi.” It comes out breathy, even to my ears.
“Want to come inside, get out of this heat?”
Even though the sun is setting and taking the heat with it, the humidity is still a bitch.
“That’d be nice, yeah.”
Sully slides the glass door open, leading me into the cabin.
Luckily, his boat is tall, and there are still a couple of inches before his head reaches the low ceiling.
“Sorry for the mess,” he says, closing the door behind me and moving a few tools out of the way. “It’s still a work in progress.”
I step over a tray of paint, taking in my surroundings. It’s as small as you’d expect a houseboat to be but doesn’t feel as tight as I’d expect. With the open layout and the bright white walls, it almost feels spacious. There’s a plastic covering on the floor for protection as he does the rest of the work, and all but the two cabinets under the sink are ripped out in the kitchen. Aside from the farmhouse sink I know he must have put in, the most out-of-place item seems to be the full-sized refrigerator tucked into an alcove. I thought for sure this place would have miniature everything.
“Be right back.” He disappears down some stairs—to his bedroom, I assume—and I take the opportunity to check out the rest of the boat.
He’s right—it is a work in progress—but it doesn’t seem like he has much more to go before it’s complete, maybe another month’s worth of effo
rt if I had to guess. It appears his focus is currently on the kitchen and he’s in the process of painting new cabinets.
When I spin, my eyes are drawn to the accent wall that seems to be made entirely out of reclaimed wood. It’s so mismatched, it fits.
“Looks cool, doesn’t it?” he asks, catching me studying the wall.
I turn around, trying to school my disappointment when I see he’s thrown a shirt on.
He’s still wearing that damn cap too, and I want to knock it off his head.
“It looks awesome. You did a great job. Very unique.”
“Thanks. I picked up most of the wood from locals throwing it out after completing their own projects and bought a couple boards myself. It turned out better than I expected. Want some?”
“What?”
“Coffee.” He points to my shirt. “Do you want some?”
I glance down at the tee I pulled on. I like coffee and maybe 3 people.
“Oh. Right. Yes, a coffee would be great.” I reach into the oversized beach bag hanging off my shoulder and pull out a box from my favorite local shop. “I brought some cookies and was going to grab us coffee to go with them, but I wasn’t sure how you take yours, or if you’d even want any this late. I take coffee very seriously, and I’d rather someone not get me coffee at all than get me the wrong coffee. I—”
Sully’s arched brows cause me to clamp my mouth shut, the realization that I’m rambling about coffee dawning on me.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“It’s fine. It’s nice to learn you’re so passionate about your coffee.” He scratches the growth on his face, and I wonder if he shaves daily or lets it grow out. “Black.”
“Huh?”
“Black. I take my coffee black, preferably a dark roast.”
I wrinkle my nose. “So you like it to taste burnt, then?”
“Are you going to judge or do you want some coffee?”
“Is it dark roast?”
He ignores me, settling in front of a one-cup coffee machine sitting on a small, wooden, two-person table along with a toaster oven.
I can picture him sitting at the table, impatiently watching as his food cooks in the mornings. The image has me hiding a smile.
“What’d it look like before?” I ask, hoping to distract myself.
“Dark and dingy. Lots of yellow wallpaper.” He grabs a pod from the pull-out drawer on the stand and pops it into the machine. He pulls two coffee mugs from a clear tote that houses all his dishes and sets it below the spout, pushing the brew button. He heads toward the fridge, hand on the door handle as he says, “And carpeted, for some godforsaken reason. The first thing I did was rip up the old carpet and replace it with hardwood.”
“That sounds…”
“Unbearably tacky? I know. Milk?”
“Do you happen to have anything non-dairy?”
“Almond milk okay?”
“Perfect. I’m not lactose intolerant or anything, I just drink a lot of coffee and I prefer the non-dairy stuff so it doesn’t sit so heavily in my stomach with this southern heat.”
“That’s exactly why I prefer it,” he says, pulling a carton of almond milk from the fridge and setting it on the table.
He walks toward me, grabbing the box of cookies from my grasp and taking them to the table. He motions toward the empty chair.
Sliding my bag off my shoulder, I take a seat.
He folds himself into the opposite chair. “I’ll add your coffee order to my list of things to know about you.”
“If you want to know my full coffee order, my secret ingredient is—”
“Vanilla!”
I rear back. “How’d you know that?”
“I was trying to figure out what you smell like. I got the apple part, but I couldn’t put my finger on what else it was. It’s vanilla.”
Sully was smelling me?
To my surprise, he doesn’t look embarrassed by this admission. Those flutters in my stomach return.
He bends, reaching into the bin again and producing a small bottle of vanilla extract. He pushes it across the table toward me just as the coffee finishes brewing.
“You have vanilla?”
“What? Don’t look so shocked. I’m no Betty Crocker, but I am a big French toast fan. It’s easy to make in the toaster oven.” He slides open the drawer the machine is sitting on. “Pick your poison.”
I mull over the various options, settling on a medium French vanilla–flavored brew. I’m a coffee hound, so I know I need something with a little less caffeine than a light roast this late at night.
“If you prefer dark, why do you have so many flavors and roasts?” I ask, sliding the drawer back in its spot and plunking the pod down into the raised lid. I press it closed and slide my mug under the spout.
“My friends come over a lot. Since the place isn’t exactly homey yet, I like to offer some level of comfort.”
I like that. It’s a small gesture but goes a long way. It’s sweet that he takes care of his friends so well, and it makes me feel a little less nervous about the random guy I picked up to be my pretend boyfriend.
“The ones who gifted you that flag, I assume?”
“Those same assholes.” Only there’s no bite in his tone.
“They seem like fun people.”
“They’re something. You grew up here, right?” he asks.
“Born and raised.”
“You may know them, especially if you frequent Slice. I’m good friends with the Daniels twins, Foster, and—”
“That billionaire dude from California, right? I’ve heard a lot of murmurings about him.”
“Yeah, that’s Porter.”
“Damn.” I whistle. “You hang with an influential crowd.”
“Says the girl related to the NFL quarterback.”
I grab my now finished coffee, pouring just a tablespoon or two of almond milk into the mug and adding a dash of vanilla. I swirl the liquid, bringing the steaming beverage to my lips and taking a sip.
When I set the mug back down, I say, “That’s probably why you look so familiar—I’m sure I’ve seen you with them before. I’m surprised we haven’t been properly introduced before now.”
He lifts a strong shoulder. “I don’t really go out of my way to talk to people.”
“Shy?”
He grunts. “Hardly. I just keep my mouth shut until I have something to say.”
“So you’re the studier.” I squint, assessing him. “Let me guess—Foster’s the happy-go-lucky, boy-next-door one, Winston’s the one with a chip on his shoulder, Porter’s the new guy, and you’re the quiet, soulful one.”
Something sparks in his eyes when I call him on what he is, but I can’t place what it is.
Surprise? Derision? Humor?
He lifts his cup to his mouth, but not before I see the smirk that’s formed on his lips. “I guess you could say that, yeah.”
“Have you been friends long?” I ask.
“A few years.”
“You’ve lived here for a few years and we haven’t met yet? How is that even possible in this town?”
“It is pretty small, huh?”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Tell me about it. It especially sucks when you’re a young bachelorette just trying to get boned.”
He sputters a laugh, spewing coffee back into his mug as some dribbles down his chin.
Coughing up what likely went down the wrong pipe, he wipes up the mess with the back of his hand, then uses the bottom of his shirt to clean off the table.
“Sorry.” I wince.
He shakes his head, taking another long pull from his drink to clear his airways. “I just wasn’t expecting that. You don’t filter much of what comes out of your mouth, do you?”
“Given my mouth is what got us into this situation, I guess you can assume the answer to that question.”
“Fair enough.” He takes another sip, draining his cup. “Speaking of our situation…”
“Right, our list
s. One sec.” I hold up my finger and reach down into my trusty beach bag.
Because I’m an anal-retentive freak, I divided my list into categories and organized it into a binder.
I pluck the small three-ring file from my bag and slide it across the table.
Sully’s deep blue eyes widen when he sees it.
“You made a binder?” he says.
“Okay, wow. I can hear the judgment in your tone, you know?”
“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I just can’t believe you made a whole binder of your…your…Thea-isms.”
“You didn’t make a list?”
“No, I did. I just wasn’t aware we had to be this detailed with it.”
“It’s not that detailed.”
He flips open the first page, which contains a quick glimpse of all my favorite things he’ll need to readily know. “It says here your favorite movie is Say Anything but your favorite book is The Shining?” He peeks up at me. “Is this real?”
I toss my hands into the air. “I’m a complicated person, okay?”
As he sits back, that smirk returns. “So I’m starting to learn.”
His eyes trail over me, so slowly and thoroughly I begin to fidget under his scrutiny.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I say when I can’t take it anymore.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re…I don’t know…annoyed or something.”
“Annoyed?”
“Yeah, with me.”
“Oh, Thea. I’m not annoyed. If anything, I’m intrigued. You remind me of the ocean.”
“What? How?”
“You’re…unpredictable.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear, trying to ignore the way my hands are starting to shake as he continues to stare at me. “Is…is that bad?”
“No.” He wets his lips and finally peels his eyes away from me, shifting them back down to the list in front of him. “I happen to love the ocean.”
Slice Eight
Sully
I excel at reading people.
It’s my thing.
But Thea? My inability to read her is what drew me to her in the first place. I couldn’t read her at Slice, and I can’t read her now. The more I get to know her as I flip through the binder resting on my lap, the more she’s starting to feel like a code I have to crack.
Cheesy on the Eyes: Fake Dating Romcom (Slice Book 5) Page 8
