by Vivian Wood
Brushing a hand down my skin tight hunter green velour dress, I pull a funny face. “Oh, that’s what my problem is? I don’t remember asking you but thanks so much for solving it for me, Cate.”
She pauses, frowning. “I’m sorry, what exactly would you say I got wrong there?”
“Well…” I sigh. “I don’t think I’m looking for something really deep and meaningful. After dating several men who turned out to be total bastards, I just… I like things light and fluffy now. Casual with a capital C.”
Cate tosses her cheap chopsticks down, looking dissatisfied. “I know one thing. You’ve wanted to start a family ever since I’ve known you, Luna. And this casual with a capital C thing you’ve been doing? That isn’t how you get one.”
I blanch and look down at my stilettos. “That just isn’t a priority right now. With med school to consider, I’m not even in the market for that kind of guy.”
Cate crosses her arms and raises a brow. “You mean a real guy who treats you well? The kind of guy who comforts you when you’re sad and celebrates your victories with you? That kind of guy?”
I flush. “You know what I mean. The guy I’m talking about who will love me no matter what… whether I can have his children or not.” My jaw tightens. My shoulders grow tense. “That kind of guy is rarer than you know.”
Cate leans over and wraps her arms around me. “You have plenty of time. I’m sorry if I made you feel rushed. I know that when the time is right, you’ll find someone great.”
Her hug is a comfort. Tears prick my eyes.
When my brother’s business partners Bradford and Owen come in from the back though, it’s a relief to change the subject.
“Bradford!” I call out. “How’s tricks?”
Bradford adjusts the collar of his shirt. He’s wearing all black and he looks thinner than usual. He poses for a second, using his hands to frame his face.
“Fabulous,” he whispers theatrically. Then he picks up a bar apron, putting it around his neck. “This diet is almost over and then I’m ready for my close up, Mr. Deville. Thank the Lord cause I’m hungry as fuck.”
Owen eyes him. “Told you that you should have eaten more than a salad at lunch.”
Owen scoots his big body behind Bradford’s lithe form, moving around him to get to the closest cash register. Bradford is the bar manager of my brother Luca’s little trio of bar owners slash best friends. His blond hair is carefully coiffed as opposed to Owen’s gruffly combed ginger hair, which honestly could use a little work. That’s Owen’s thing though; he wears denim shirts and jeans. He seems to put very little work into his appearance.
It’s a good thing that he’s freckled and muscular, because he’s kind of a mess otherwise. Unlike Bradford, who obviously cares a great deal about his appearance and always looks like he’s just comes from the gym.
Bradford scrunches up his face.
“Like you even know anything about trying to slim down. When you’re not here you’re either running an ultramarathon or eating a steak the size of your own face.” He makes a long-suffering expression. “All I want is to be over thirty and eat whatever I want and not gain a pound. Is that so hard?”
He looks around, his gaze landing on me. I shrug.
“Don’t look at me. I haven’t eaten whatever I wanted since I was eight. My mom started to worry that I wouldn’t look good in the bathing suit she bought for me, so she put me on the same diet plan that she was on.” I drum the bar with my hands. “That was the beginning of the end, my friends.”
Owen grunts. “You guys should try ultramarathons. They’ll keep you fit as a fiddle.”
“No way,” Bradford says.
“Noooo,” Cate announces. “No thanks.”
Bradford looks at Owen, who is adjusting the cuffs of his white button up shirt. “Hey, how did your date go last night?”
Owen scowls. “It didn’t. After fifteen minutes, we realized we had absolutely nothing in common. I was at home and in bed by dark.”
He wrinkles his nose. I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
“Are you finally going to call Chloe and tell her you are desperately in love with her, then?”
“You really should,” Cate chimes in.
“Well, I think that’s my cue to head to my office.” Owen rolls his eyes. “See you guys later.”
I check the time on my phone, then slide out of my seat. “I should actually go too. I have to figure out what the hell I should pack to be a medic on a luxury yacht.” I turn to Cate, picking up my trash. “I’ll see you sometime this week before I leave on my trip, right?”
Cate nods. “Definitely. You know where to find me.”
“Catch you guys later,” I say, flashing Cate and Bradford a peace sign. Grabbing my purse, I hustle down the back hallway, stopping to throw my trash out.
As I let myself out of the building, exiting into the parking lot, my phone rings. I fish it out of my purse, frowning at the screen as I climb into my Mercedes.
It’s a video call, but I don’t recognize the number. The area code is 206, which is the exchange for Seattle.
I answer it, expecting it to be a butt dial or something. But a very handsome man with well-coiffed blond hair and an expensive suit is on the other end. He smiles widely.
“Luna Leone?” His voice is surprisingly high pitched.
“Yes?” I ask. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.
“Dr. Fletcher Montgomery,” he identifies himself. “I work at Washington University School of Medicine. Specifically, I’m in charge of placing medical interns such as yourself with residents.”
My eyes widen. This is exactly why I took the summer internship; I need people like dr. Montgomery on my side. “Oh! Hi, Dr. Montgomery. Umm… what can I do for you?”
His smile grows sly. “I heard that you have recently found employment for the summer with a yacht charter company.”
My heartbeat picks up. “Yes, sir. I just took a job with Aurora Borealis Charters. It was the very last spot.”
“Just so.” He smiles tightly. “It just so happens that my good friend Gabe works at that company. Great guy, that rascal.”
Something about this conversation makes my stomach flip flop. “Yes, I… I met him yesterday. He seems… nice?”
It comes out as a question rather than a statement. Dr. Montgomery nods sagely.
“Well Gabe and I go way back. His fiancée introduced us, God rest her soul.”
I frown. What in the world does that mean?
He looks remote for a moment, then continues. “Anyway, I need a favor. And in return, I will make sure that you get your pick of candidates for the resident that will lead you in the fall.”
My eyebrows creep up. “Like… any resident? Whoever I like the most?”
He gives me a dazzling smile. “Whatever makes you happy. As long as I get what I ask you for, that is.”
My heart clangs around in my chest. “And what’s that, exactly?”
“It’s simple. We have been racing our yachts together for years, you see. We are going to compete again in the end of summer. I just need to know his exact route plan for the Highbourne Pointe Regatta.” His smile widens. “I just like to know what my friends are up to.”
My brow hunches. “You want me to… like, spy on him? I don’t even know what a route plan or whatever is, if I’m honest with you.”
Dr. Montgomery’s face zooms in close. I move my head back even though he’s not physically here. I have the worst feeling about Dr. Montgomery, like he’s definitely trying to pull one over on me or something.
“The route plan will be drawn out on a map. I just need a picture of it. Like I said, it’s a very simple request.” His lips quirk.
“When would I…” I wrinkle my nose. “You know, procure a copy for you.”
“He’ll be working on it still. Right up until the race, I’d wager. So he will have it on board the yacht you’re working on. See, I’ve thought of everything.” He smiles coldly.<
br />
I bite my lip. “I don’t know… I mean… it kind of sounds like you are asking for something that will give you an advantage in the regatta.”
“Pssh.” He poo-poos my idea, waving his hand. “Not at all. Like I said, it’ll just help me to prepare. Clearly you have no clue about boats because otherwise you would realize that what I’m asking for is for safety.” He rolls his eyes. “I am a doctor, Luna.”
Exhaling, I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Montgomery. It sounds like you want me to help you cheat.”
Immediately, the smile drops from his lips. His voice rises in pitch and his face contorts with anger. “Do not fuck with me, little girl. Do this very simple and quite reasonable thing I asked you. Take your reward. Otherwise… well, let’s just say that you don’t want to know what happens otherwise.”
I give him a questioning look. “Are you threatening me?”
“Not at all,” he says smoothly.
“That’s not really what it sounds like. Besides, how do you even know that I’ll be able to get his private drawings and stuff?”
Dr. Montgomery cocks his head. “You’re smart and relatively attractive. You’ll figure something out.” He pauses. “But I will need it the second you get the chance. You grab a picture with your phone. You send it to me. In the fall, you will be massively rewarded.”
“It doesn’t sound like I have much alternative,” I say, my eyes narrowing.
“Great! You can just send it to this number when you get a picture.” He smiles brightly. “Bon voyage, Luna.”
And just like that, he hangs up on me. I’m still slightly openmouthed, trying desperately to figure out what I just said yes to.
My future boss wants me to sneak him copy of the route plan that my current boss plans to take on some regatta. Dr. Montgomery says it’s for safety, but I’d bet all the money I have that he and Gabe aren’t actually friends at all.
What in the world?
Starting my Mercedes, I pull out of my parking spot, my head still spinning.
7
Gabe
The flashes of light across the dance floor. The impatient throb of music, so loud that I can feel the vibrations moving up through my feet. There is a smell here, rising off the tightly packed dance floor.
It smells like perfume and aftershave, and underneath that, there is a baser scent. One of sweaty exuberance and the blending together of bodies.
It reminds me very much of the scent of sex. As I stand on a balcony above the crowd, that scent is slowly driving me a little insane. Dresses sparkle when the lights hit them, people pull their dance partners just a fraction closer. Women throw their arms up; men grind their lower bodies in a gyrating, pulsating beat. Everyone is entranced, moving in time to the persistent throbbing of the bass.
I shouldn’t be here. Not in Las Vegas. Not in this dance club.
Michelle only died three months ago. I’m still deep in mourning. But yesterday I found out that Michelle owed money to some very bad people. Money that they still expected, despite her death.
And I also found out that Michelle paid a little bit of her debt off by doing porn.
My fists clench. I watch the dancers below, but I have no inclination to join them. After all, I only came to Las Vegas to pay off the men that Michelle never managed to get even with.
Tipping my head back, I empty my glass of whiskey down my throat. I’m so angry with her. Sad too.
My angst threatens to swarm up from inside me, snaking its way up from my throat to choke me. I shove it down.
But I’ve been shoving it down for three months already. It’s packed so densely inside me that I’m pretty sure it’s an explosive force. A ticking time bomb, ready to go off.
And thus, I ended up here in this club. I bought myself a bottle of whiskey and I’m in the midst of drowning my sorrows.
I don’t know if I want to fight or fuck next, but I have to do something. Pouring myself another drink, I close my eyes and listen to the whomp-whomp-whomp of the beat.
“Do you mind if I stand here?”
I open my eyes to find a petite blonde woman standing right beside me. My eyebrows go up. With her light colored eyes, graceful features, and a sparkly silver dress she looks almost too beautiful and otherworldly to be real.
I find myself nodding, even though I planned to drink alone and brood.
She studies me for a moment, her eyes a breathtaking blue accented by her dark makeup. Cocking her head to one side, she quirks her lips.
“You’re handsome. You’re all tall and you have the face of a model.” She steps closer in her sky-high heels, invading my space by touching my cheek.
That’s my first clue that she’s drunk. So am I, but I still pull away from her fingers.
“Quit that.”
She just gives me a daring grin. “No.”
I try to intimidate her with my size, stepping forward again with a scowl on my face. But to my surprise, she doesn’t back away.
She just gives me a funny look and then takes my hand. “Dance with me, stranger.”
She tugs me toward the stairs, heading for the dance floor. I allow her to pull me along, riding on a particular wave of drunkenness.
I’m in Vegas.
I’m being led by an attractive blonde.
I’m not tied down anymore.
Before I can feel sulky about that last thought, my partner has led me down the stairs and pulled me into the crowd. She turns suddenly, pressing herself close to my. body. She starts moving with the rhythm of the song, her arms winding around my neck, her small hips sliding against my own.
I thank God that there is plenty of alcohol in my system and slip my arm around her lower back.
Dancing is usually anathema to me. But I think tonight must be my night. The stranger makes it easy for me, setting an easy pace, doing most of the work.
I get a whiff of her perfume, something floral with an undertone of musk. My arms encircle her, my hips pressing against her.
She drops her head back, a smile on her lips as she gazes up into my face. Her eyes make me think she can see right into my soul. I swear she is weaving some spell around me.
And I love it, every second of it.
She raises up on her tiptoes, shouting in my ear to be heard over the music. “Do you want to kiss me?”
My body hardens. My grip on her tightens. My gaze drops down to her perfectly pink lips.
I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.
Bending her back a little, I brush my lips against hers. Then I kiss her again, harder this time. Her mouth is warm and it tastes as sweet as she looks.
Her hands curl in my shirt collar, pulling me closer. The kiss turns demanding and breathless with effort on my part.
I explore her mouth, my hips digging against hers in time with the music. I fist a hand in the back of her hair and tug her head back, exposing her throat to my lips.
Kissing my way down the smooth column, I pause over her pulse point.
Her heart beats as frantically as a rabbit’s. She needs this as much as I do.
When my lips leave her skin, she pulls my ear to her lips.
“I have a room upstairs,” she whispers. “You should come up with me.”
I freeze, considering her words. Am I ready to have my first fling since Michelle’s death?
My first instinct is to say no, to deny myself the comfort I could find in this little blonde’s arms. But then I realize that Michelle wasn’t faithful to me. She slept with that fucking douche at the yacht club. She slept with multiple people when she was filming the porn to pay her creditors back.
And who knows who else she fucked. My grip tightens on the blonde’s waist. Her lips curve upwards into an expectant smile.
“You want to,” she says. “Come with me.”
She grabs my hand again and starts pushing through the crowd. And I let her tow me along, my anticipation already building.
She looks back at me, pulling me along
. “Gabe.”
I raise my eyebrows. She doesn’t know my name. I never gave it…
“Gabe!”
“Luna…” I call to her. She smiles even as she lets go of my hand. “Luna?”
In the next second, I blink myself awake. Sunlight streams over my face. Malkia looks down at me with a frown, her dark eyes filled with concern.
“Gabe?” she asks. “Are you okay?”
I suck in a breath, sitting up. The gentle sway of the ocean and the feel of expensive linens beneath me tells me I’m in the main cabin of the High Hope.
“Yeah,” I say, stretching my neck. I’m wearing yesterday’s clothes still, my plaid button up wrinkled. “I guess I fell asleep here last night.”
She stands up, beckoning me to follow her. “Come to the kitchen. I will make coffee.”
Groaning, I get to my feet. I must’ve slept at a weird angle or something because my neck really hurts. Ducking my head, I follow Malkia down the hallway toward the kitchen.
She already has the kettle on the stove when I get in the tiny room. The stove and double oven are on one side of the island; on the other side I pull out on of two stools, sitting while I watch my sister find the reground coffee.
“You looked like you were having quite the dream when I woke you,” Malkia says. She busies herself dumping a few scoops of coffee into the French press. But I know her too well to read the way she’s bustling around the kitchen as disinterest.
She wants to know what my dream was about.
Sitting down, I shrug. “I guess. The details of my dream are hazy.”
She eyes me, coming around the island and pulling out the second stool. “I see.”
She sits, canting her head at me. I stretch my legs out, which puts my crossed ankles into the hallway. We are quiet for a moment until the kettle whistles.
Malkia gets up and pours the steaming water into the French Press, then checks the fridge under the island counter. “There is no cream.”
