Wet: Part 1

by Rivera, S. Jackson

  Wet

  PART ONE

  S. Jackson Rivera

  Published by S. Jackson Rivera

  Copyright 2015 S. Jackson Rivera

  Cover design by Creative Paramita (creativeparamita.com)

  Edited by Precision Editing Group (precisioneditinggroup.com)

  Edited by Proof Before You Publish (proofbeforeyoupublish.com)

  Formatted by Totencreative (totencreative.com)

  All rights reserved. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  All text, characters, character names, places, culture, incidents, and distinctive likenesses thereof are property of the author. No part of this publication may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events, either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places, events, persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  To report typographical errors, please email:

  sjacksonrivera@gmail.com

  Thank you.

  In memory of one of the most

  beautiful men to have ever lived.

  And for my beautiful man—my dive buddy, for his patience, committed dedication to my research, and his faith in me.

  And finally, for my Beta readers (you know you are) for without their excitement about this project,

  I might not have found the courage.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Wet: Part 2, Preview

  Prologue

  “Daddy, what am I supposed to do now?” Rhees had been feeling helpless—hopeless—since the doctor gave her the news: ‘Your father has three months to live’. The news ripped her heart, less than two years after losing her mother.

  Rhees lay curled up on the ground next to her father’s casket, sobbing. The fear of going on alone paralyzed her. She had no one, no aunts, uncles. Perry, her older brother, had run away from home when she was only ten years old. She hadn’t heard from him since.

  The men, the grave diggers, grew impatient, wanting to lower the casket into the ground. They wanted to go home but couldn’t until the last mourner left them to their work. She didn’t want to go home to the empty house where she’d always lived with her parents, her world.

  Her neighbor, Mrs. Michaels, sat in her car and watched for as long as she could bear. She finally got out, pulled Rhees into her arms, and held her until she managed to convince her it was time to go. Over the next few months, the kind woman helped Rhees with all the details.

  Two months later . . .

  Rhees stared at the check, the life insurance money her father had left. He’d named her sole beneficiary.

  “He didn’t believe in life insurance,” she muttered.

  Chapter 1

  Rhees had been nervous since Mrs. Michaels helped her book this trip to the Caribbean, but as soon as she saw the sign—Paradise Divers—she felt butterflies in her stomach, or maybe something more like pterodactyls. She stopped for a second to remind herself of her goal, took a deep breath, and timidly turned the corner, thinking the dive shop would be right there.

  To her dismay, a long, narrow walkway loomed before her, a walkway over the water, the ocean. Only twenty-five feet left to go, but she was sure it was the hardest part of her journey. Secretly terrified of the ocean, she wanted to kick herself for getting into such a scary situation. She thought about turning right around and heading back home.

  The water sparkled on both sides of the narrow walkway, and she thought how embarrassing it would be if she fell in. She had no reason to believe she would—she wasn’t clumsy by any means—but her imagination worked overtime to come up with random mishaps to worry about, as if she didn’t worry enough already.

  The shop sat on a large deck on stilts, entirely over the water, a crude construction like almost every building she’d seen since getting off the plane. The islanders appeared to have an aversion to paint. The platform stretched about fifteen yards wide and thirty yards long, the long building positioned in the center. The water lapped against the land only inches beneath the narrow boardwalk where she stood, while sloping deeper as the deck’s length stretched farther out into the bay.

  The roof of the building extended to the platform edge on both sides of the building, providing shade to the six feet of walkway on either side. Rhees guessed that the people sitting under the awning enjoying each other’s company were trying to avoid the hot sun.

  She took a deep breath and stepped onto the boardwalk, pulling her huge, wheeled bag behind her. It reminded her of walking the plank, which sent her nerves into overdrive. Pirates holding swords to her back came to mind. The eight people at the other end wore nothing but swimming suits, and they stared, watching her drag her duffle, its wheels clanking noisily across the uneven wooden planks.

  She said a quick prayer that she wouldn’t fall into the ocean, even if it wasn’t very deep here.

  “I’m looking for Paul Weaver,” she said when she reached the people who’d watched her cross the boardwalk.

  “Just like every other woman,” someone said quietly and the others broke into a round of laughter. “He’s in the office.”

  Rhees looked down the length of the building and gestured to the three doors along the outdoor corridor.

  “And the office is . . .” she asked, with an inquiring expression. One of the shade-seekers pointed to the door behind her.

  Paul waited in his office for the printer to spit out the report he needed so his office duties could finally be done for the day. He hated being cooped up inside, doing tedious paperwork, when he preferred to be out in the sun.

  As he waited, he looked out the window and noticed her come around the corner. He squinted, straining to get a better look through the sea-salt spotted glass, and approved of what he saw. His heart knocked a little harder against his chest—unusual, but he assured himself it was just the anticipation of another paying student.

  Most of the people who came to the island were European backpackers—young people, headed out to travel the world while they waited for the transition from teenager to adulthood. By the time they reached the island, most usually looked a little worse for wear. She was different.

  The girl was cute enough—shapely. Not a supermodel, but something about her made him stare. He watched her cross the Plank, as they called the long wooden walkway, trying to figure out what it was. Her long, golden-brown hair, still shiny and smooth—the humidity obviously hadn’t had enough time to do its work on her yet—fell to just above her breasts, curling around, as if pointing to them, saying, “Look.” And he did.

  His eyes widened with approval. It was more than just her pleasing body, though he never did pinpoint what. She wore a floral orange smock with white sh
orts, not unusual attire for the tropics, but even after traveling all day, she looked . . . put together.

  Maybe it was the shoes—bronze sandals with a two-inch heel. None of the girls on the island wore anything but flip flops. She made him smile.

  “Mmm . . . I think your dreams are about to come true, Claire.”

  Claire grunted to let him know she didn’t want to be bothered with chit-chat.

  “It appears a member of the royal family is about to pay us a visit.”

  That caught the British Claire’s attention. She looked up from her computer. “What?”

  He chuckled. “I think our new student has arrived.”

  oOo

  Rhees left her bag outside the door and walked into the small office, her nerves still raw. It didn’t surprise her to see everything indoors made from the same crude wooden planks she’d seen outside, except for the white counter in front of her—the only thing she’d seen at the shop so far, adorned with paint.

  Behind the counter, a computer sat to the right on a wide shelf that served as a desk. The shelf ran all the way around the small room. A woman sat at another computer against the back wall, the only window in the office directly above her head. Shelves covered every possible spot on the wall, and each shelf looked ready to break from the weight of all the clutter that had been stuffed onto it. Messy and unorganized, the office didn’t sit well with Rhees and her tidy little world.

  The wolf huffed, and he puffed, and he blew the house . . . made of wooden planks . . . down. The thought made her smile.

  The man behind the counter returned her smile, giving her the impression that he thought she’d smiled because of him.

  “Hey.” He extended his hand across the counter. “I’m Paul.” He continued to smile without taking his eyes off her. She glanced away from his gesture, pretending not to notice he wanted to shake hands.

  “Williams.” He put his finger on a paper attached to a clipboard, pointing to her name but didn’t look at it—because he was still looking at her. “Danarya, right?” He’d pronounced her name dan-uh-rhee-a, and she cringed. Too many people tried to pronounce her name like the common stomach disorder.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled before answering. “Duh-nair-ee-uh, but please, call me Rhees.”

  “Danarya.” He said it right. “Such an unusual—pretty name. I’ve never heard it before.”

  “Thank you. And yeah, my parents combined their mother’s names, coming up with a name so unusual—and weird—no one can pronounce it.”

  “Why Rhees? Middle name?” He seemed so interested, the way his eyes bore into hers.

  “Umm . . . no. I think Danarya was too weird to match up with a middle name. I don’t have one. When I was little, I couldn’t even say my name. Apparently, I called myself Habarhees for years. Rhees stuck.” She’d told the story so many times.

  Paul had rested his folded arms on the counter, staring at her with the same smile. It took him a second to respond, making her squirm a little.

  “It’s good to finally put a face to the emails. Rhees.” His smile changed. Only one side of his mouth curved up now. “I’m looking forward to having you.” He offered Rhees his hand again for another handshake. She hesitated, staring warily for a second before she finally took it. When she looked back to his face, she noticed how his eyes sparkled.

  Claire rolled her eyes. She tried not to pay attention. She knew exactly how it would all play out. This new girl, like all the others—at least the pretty ones—would fall for Paul and use every trick in her arsenal to get his attention. Once he finished letting her entertain him, he would succumb to her wiles, and she would never know his wiles were what landed her in his bed.

  “Claire, this is Rhees, our new student.”

  Claire didn’t even pretend to be distracted from her work on her computer. “Hello Rhees. So glad you’ve come to Paradise Divers. We’re excited you have chosen to join our family.” It came out as enthusiastically as she could manage—monotone. She’d said it a million times, and it grew harder and harder to sound like she meant it.

  “Um . . . thank you.” Rhees cleared her throat.

  Paul continued to stare. His right eye twitched, the gesture so slight Rhees brushed it off. It made her uncomfortable to think he’d wink at her when they’d just met.

  “So you want to get certified. We can get that done pretty fast, but you’re here for three weeks, right? Once you’ve got your C-card, you’ll be hooked. If you could swing staying a little longer, we could work on your Dive Master certification too.” Paul watched her—still. She stared back, though it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

  She’d put her life into the hands of these people. The whole idea of diving scared her enough already, but she’d set a goal. As a generally easy-going, make-no-waves personality, she hadn’t set many goals in her life, but once she did, she couldn’t let it go. Her parents had called her stubborn, but only a time or two. Her determination in this case, she believed, was regrettable and poorly executed, and did nothing for her nausea.

  She lowered her head but raised her eyes to resume eye contact, looking up through her lashes, unwittingly revealing her moment of vulnerability.

  “I need to take this one step at a time.”

  Paul stared as if he meant to say something, but nothing came out. He glanced down.

  “Do you have a place to stay?” he finally asked.

  “I have reservations at Strawberry Hill Estates.” The sudden change in Paul’s expression worried her, and Claire actually looked up from her computer. The name did make the place sound better than it was. She’d seen it.

  “I think we can do better than that.” Paul winked—no doubt this time—with his left eye and picked up a microphone. “Tracy, I need you in the office.”

  In just a few seconds, a tall, big-boned girl wearing dark, heavy glasses poked her head into the office. Her long, stringy, and mousy brown hair fell to about her shoulders.

  “I was just reading out on the deck. What did I do?” She pushed her glasses up her nose.

  Paul grinned. “You have a vacancy at your place, don’t you?”

  Tracy seemed relieved. “Yes.”

  “Meet your new roommate. This is Rhees.”

  Rhees almost croaked. She couldn’t believe he would make this type of arrangement without her consent. Even with the unbelievable third-world currency exchange rate, Rhees needed to be careful with every cent. “I have a pretty tight budget. Strawberry Hill is the only place I could aff—”

  “Believe me. You’ll fit in better at Tracy’s. It’s the nicest apartment on the island.”

  “Then for sure I can’t—”

  His confidence radiated through his smile. “Tracy, how much is your rent?”

  “Eleven-fifty a night, split between Regina and I, but now there’ll be three of us. There’s still one more bed too, so if we find one more person that’ll be four people to split the cost . . .” Tracy rambled but Paul cut her off by ignoring the rest of what she said. He turned back to Rhees.

  “See? Strawberry is what, three dollars? For an extra eighty-three cents a night, you’re going to be much happier. I promise.”

  This man, Paul, made her increasingly uncomfortable—the way he stared at her, made decisions for her. She didn’t know if she should be grateful or creeped out.

  “Tracy, show Rhees where she’ll be staying.” He stared again. “Tomorrow morning then, about noon. We’ll get you started.”

  “Um, okay.” Rhees took a deep breath but managed a smile. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous about all this.”

  “You’re going to love it.” He winked again—or did he? “It’s nice to meet you.”

  oOo

  Tracy didn’t stop talking the whole way to her apartment. Rhees
learned every detail about every roommate Tracy had ever had, information Rhees didn’t feel the need to know when she really just wanted to ask how much farther they had to walk. She would have asked if Tracy had taken a breath. Rhees started to wonder why they didn’t take a taxi, and if it was much farther, she thought about how the added cost of taking a taxi every day would eat away at her tight budget. Once they finally arrived, relief swept over her. In spite of the extra cost, the added distance from the dive shop where she would be spending most of her time over the next few weeks, and her new, talkative roommate, she didn’t regret any of it after all.

  The place was cute, clean, and not at all scary. She felt a greater sense of gratitude toward the dive shop owner for steering her right. After getting off the plane, the taxi driver had dropped her off at Strawberry Hill. The rundown place had made her nervous. When she’d tried to check in, she’d found the office closed. Fortunately, the taxi driver sat parked in front, still watching and waiting, as if he worried about leaving her there. He’d suggested she head to the dive shop and had even offered to take her at no extra charge.