Diving Deep

by Megyn Ward

  “Let me take you somewhere.” I don’t know where. All I know is that now that I’ve found her, I don’t want to let her go.

  She shakes her head. “See this ocean.” She points toward it. “This big beautiful ocean. Rich people dig canals to bring it to their door. It should be free but they lock it up so only they can enjoy it.”

  Rich people.

  That means me, and I feel defensive and embarrassed at the same time. “It’s not all locked up.”

  “Have you ever been to the public beach?” She shakes her head at me like she already knows the answer to her own question. “It’s a dump.” I hate the resentment in her eyes. She wraps her arms around her knees and rests her chin on top. “You can’t trust the riff-raff, can you?”

  “Just because people have money doesn’t mean their lives are all cotton candy and unicorns.” I try to find another way to relate to her. But because I’m an asshole, I’m also thinking about was how cute her toes look curled into the grass.

  She gives me a wry grin. “Yeah, trying to figure out how to fill up your endless hours of leisure time must be exhausting.”

  “It’s not my fault I grew up with money.” I run a hand through my hair before letting it drop. “It doesn’t make me a bad person.” I keep the conversation going because even though she obviously hates me, I want to be close to her. The breeze blowing in off the water brings me that sunshine and lemon smell again and her blonde hair ripples on the current. I want to touch her. Feel the sun-warmed silk of her tanned skin under my hands.

  She stares at the ocean, tension keeping her stiff. “Not bad. But you’ll never have to worry about choosing between groceries or a new pair of jeans. You’ve never kept an emergency ration of Ramen noodles in your cupboard in case money gets tight.” Her voice catches. “You’ve never gambled with health insurance, so you can save for vacation.”

  I want to ask her what happened to make her so bitter but I get the feeling she won’t tell me. “I have a job.”

  Okay, so maybe it’s my first job ever and maybe not even a real job but a pretend job to trick someone into fucking you.

  Because your rich, elitist father sold you into indentured servitude to one of his buddies because you pissed him off one too many times.

  “Lucky you.” She gives me a brittle smile. “I had a job yesterday morning, too.”

  Guilt runs down the back of my throat like sticky tar. “I’m…”

  “Sorry. I know.” She flashes me her teeth. They look sharp. “You said that. And yet, here I sit, wondering how I’ll pay my share of rent and what I’ll eat next week.”

  I lean over to my left and dig for my wallet.

  Her eyes go wide when she realizes what I’m doing. With an indignant gasp she lurches to her feet. “You’ve helped enough, thanks.” She hit the sidewalk and her feet slap the pavement and because I’m obviously some sort of masochist, I follow her.

  “At least let me give you a ride home.” What is it about this girl? She’s made it plain she doesn’t want me around. Why can’t I just take the hint? Leave her alone?

  She leans out to survey traffic. “I’d rather take the bus.” She folds her arms and watches cars speed by.

  “Yeah.” I nod my head because, hot or not, this girl is starting to get under my skin. “I can see where hanging out on the hot pavement, breathing in exhaust and waiting for a bus that may or may not show up anytime in the next two hours beats a ride in an air-conditioned car with some….” I stop. Remember Niles drove me here and kicked me out of his Viper.

  Shit.

  “What’s the matter?” She turns to look at me. “Lose your Ferrari?”

  “I don’t drive a Ferrari.” I step up to the curb. And hold my hand out to wave down a taxi. It swings to the curb with a shriek of tires. “I drive a Mercedes.”

  She steps back and glares at me.

  I pull open the door and hold out my arm. “Get in.”

  Chapter 13

  Kylie

  He holds the taxi door open and glares back at me, daring me to refuse. Damn, he was hot. The cobalt blue of his shirt shows off his tanned skin. The fabric shapes to his muscular chest and biceps like it was tailored just for him. It occurs to me that it probably was.

  The realization helps fuel my annoyance.

  While I’d been working since age fourteen, scrimping and saving just to buy clothes off sale racks at outlet stores, this guy, who spent his time playing around on the beach and drinking all day, has legions of professionals waiting to outfit him.

  “Get in.” His blue eyes snap at me but beneath the glare I can see regret. I think he truly feels bad about me losing my job. He wants to do something to make it up to me. Sort of like petting a puppy and giving her a treat because you feel guilty for accidentally kicking her.

  I’m not a puppy and he can’t appease his conscience by being nice. I don’t want him to think that by handing me some cash or giving me a ride home, he’s somehow absolves from his part in ruining my life.

  Well, maybe not my whole life, but he sure as hell made it more difficult.

  He looks desperate. And a bit annoyed. Like he’s five seconds away from throwing me into the back of the taxi himself. “Come on. It’s just a taxi ride.”

  I don’t want to get on a bus barefoot. And he’s right—there’s no telling when it’ll show up. I give him a mean look and stomp over to the taxi to slide inside.

  Zach slides in beside me and slams the door. He raises his eyebrows at me. “Where to?”

  Maybe showing him where I live isn’t the best plan. On impulse I say, “The Green Frog.”

  The driver zips into traffic and I stare out the window and do my best to ignore the fact that he smells fantastic and won’t stop looking at me.

  His hand appears at the edge of my vision. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Zach Lowery.”

  I ignore him. I don’t want him to be charming.

  “And you’re Kylie.” He bobs his hand like I shook it before letting it drop “Nice to meet you.”

  Silence.

  He accepts it. “Where did you grow up?”

  I stare out the window.

  “Timbuktu. Really?” He speaks as if responding to me. “I imagine you have a lot of interesting stories about that.”

  He waits but I don’t utter a sound.

  “I had no idea camels did that.”

  He keeps at it. Throwing out one-liners, each one more outlandish than the last. It’s hard but I manage to ignore him. Finally, the taxi pulls up in front of The Green Frog and I hop out.

  Instead of having the taxi take him back downtown to his high-end bars and shops, Zach pays the driver and climbs out after me.

  I step off the sidewalk, into the sand. After the cold of glass and fancy marble and the heat of the sidewalk, my toes spread out and practically sigh in the sun-warmed sand. I cross the beach and Zach follows me.

  “Thanks for the ride.” I keep walking and don’t look at him. Probably because I’m afraid if I do, I’ll cave and give this guy whatever he’s after. “You can go home now.”

  “Let me buy you lunch.”

  I frown and keep walking. “Too late for lunch.”

  “Dinner?” He’s not going to give up.

  “Too early for dinner.” I hope my stomach doesn’t growl. I hadn’t eaten since a banana at sunrise.

  The palapa covering the open-air bar casts shadows that cool the sand. The Green Frog straddles a patch of beach between two resorts. It sits on a quieter section of town, not nearly as frantic as Seven Mile Beach. Far from posh, the concrete floor is always scuffed with sand, the palm roof rustling in the constant ocean breeze. A knee-high wall surrounds the open area with a circular worn-wood bar in the middle. Working here has its advantages. First, the location between home and the dive shop. Secondly, the view. I face the ocean, and though it’s the wrong location for the sunset, which might contribute to this portion of the island not being so busy, the predictable rhythm of the waves welc
omes me.

  “Kylie!” Diana hollers at me from the far side of the nearly empty bar. This is its third advantage. Diana. She’s the closest thing to a best friend I’ve ever had.

  Zach turns to me. “Just like Cheers. Everyone knows your name.”

  I hate my reaction to his deep-dimpled grin.

  Why? Because you want to lick him to see if he tastes as good as he looks?

  I scowl at him before plopping myself on a bar stool facing the beach.

  “It’s dead.” Diana skips around in her platform sandals and short-shorts to drape an arm around my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.” She stops and raises her eyebrows when she sees Zach and realizes we’re together.

  Diana bats her eyes at Zach. “I’m Diana, Kylie’s best friend.”

  Zach’s eyes slide from Diana to me and back. “I’m Zach. Kylie’s—”

  “Nothing,” I interrupt. “He’s my nothing and he’s leaving. Bye.”

  “Really?” Diana pushes her full mouth into pout I’ve seen her use on guys a thousand times. “Maybe you could have a drink before you go.”

  “He can’t,” I say before he has the chance to open his mouth. “He’s a busy guy.” For some reason, I want him as far away from Diana as possible.

  Some reason? Come on, you want him away from her so you won’t have to watch her work her island magic on him.

  “Not really.” Zach slides onto the bar stool next to me. “I’ve got hours of leisure time to fill.” He draws out the word while shooting me a grin. “I think I’ve got time for a drink.”

  Thinking she’s won, Diana claps her hands and squeals. She’s laying it on thick. Most days I find her flagrant flirting amusing and mildly annoying. Right now, I want to smack the shit out of her.

  Zach doesn’t seem to notice. He’s leaned against the bar, studying the row of bottles behind it as if trying to decide.

  “Hey, can we get some drinks?” A table of thirty-somethings are getting tuned. Nothing like a vacation to turn perfectly nice people into jerks.

  Diana’s rolls her eyes before she puts on her solicitous grin. “Absolutely! Another round or would you like to try the Sex on the Beach? Timothy makes a killer mango daiquiri.” She’s selling while strutting across the concrete floor.

  Timothy, the bartender, wanders around the bar and smiles. “What can I get you, Kylie?”

  A time machine. I need a time machine, Timothy. Got one of those back there?

  Running a mental diagnostic on my already anemic bank account I shake my head. “I’ll start with a water and chase it with water.”

  “Water? What are you, my Nana?”

  I spin on my bar stool to find Zach looking at me. “Are you still here? Why don’t you go home?”

  “Can’t.’ He heaves a sigh. “Not until you let me buy you a drink.”

  I shake my head. “If I let you buy me a drink you’ll think you’ve made it up to me and you’ll be off the hook.”

  “Seriously?” He laughs at me and shakes his head. “I’ve been listening to you insult and berate me for over an hour now. I think I understand that it’s going to take more than a couple drinks to wriggle off the hook.”

  His off-handed remark about my behavior stains my cheeks. I’m being a total bitch. I know I am. Even so, I cross my arms over my chest and say, “You’ve deserved every minute of it.”

  “Absolutely.” He nods his head like agrees with me. “But I think all this subjection has earned me the right to buy the pretty girl I shared a cab with a drink.”

  “Buy a pretty girl a drink? What is this, 1960.” I have to fight to smother the bubble of laughter threatening to pop out of my mouth. “What’s next? You gonna give me your class ring and ask me to go steady?”

  He sighs. “Why are you so stubborn?”

  “Why are you such a douche?” He’s not a douche. I wish he was a douche. If he were, I wouldn’t like him so damn much.

  “You want to hate me?” He spreads his arms wide, drawing the fine fabric of his shirt tight across his muscular chest while he flashes me those lickable dimples again. “Fine. Hate me—but if you were smart about it, you’d hate me while taking advantage of me by letting me buy you a drink or two.”

  “Fine.” Finally, he starts to make sense. “But you are still firmly on the hook.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of assuming otherwise.” Zach flashes me another grin before turning toward the bad. “Timothy, my man. Two of your finest.”

  Timothy pulls out plastic cups and syrup.

  I held up my palm. “Tequila.” I point to the top shelf before Timothy can reach into the well. “Petron.”

  Zach laughed. “That’s the spirit.” He flips the top button of his shirt open and loosens his tie. Tugging it off, he folds it carefully, slipping it into his pants pocket before unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up. I try not to watch but, for the love of cheese, how can I not? It was like a freaking striptease.

  Diana returns. “So, Zach, how did you meet our Kylie?” She throws back her shoulders, showcasing her pretty remarkable cleavage. I know it’s enhanced by some lacy push-up and underwires. Diana calls her lingerie collection an investment in her future.

  To his credit, Zach focuses on Diana’s face. “We met diving and then bumped into each other in the financial district today.”

  Timothy sets shot glasses in front of me and Zach. I grab my glass and tip it back and the Patron slide down my throat. It’s smooth for tequila.

  Diana whips around and studies me, her eyes taking in my sleeveless silk blouse and traveling down to my gray pencil skirt and bare feet. “What were you doing down there?”

  “Looking for a job.” Why not keep to the story?

  Diana lets it go with a shrug before focusing on Zach again. She’d found her mark for the night. “Do you work in finance?”

  Zach’s face hardens. “I do now.”

  Diana licks her lips like she can already taste the champagne. “What firm are you with?”

  While she peppers him with questions, I snake my hand over and snag his tequila. I pop it back and catch Timothy’s eye. I hold up two fingers and point to the bar in front of me and Zach.

  A group of swimsuit-clad vacationers wander in and find a table. Diana hurries over, all smiles and good cheer. She deserves every cent of her tips.

  Zach studies the empty bar in front of him and casts a questioning look at me. Timothy sets two glasses down. Still looking a little skeptical, Zach picks up his glass and waits for me to clink. I do because I’m two shots in and feeling a little bit better about sitting here with him.

  He leans on his elbow and gives me his full attention. I catch my breath and shift backward a bit.

  That face.

  His deep dimples and easy smile are hard enough to handle. But his eyes, holy mother of god, those eyes. The blue of a deep ocean and just as changeable. I have no trouble imagining what they would look like right before he—

  What the hell am I thinking? I have no job, no real plan for Jonas Knightly. All the money I have in the world is stuck in my bra, and here I am, horny and stupid over the guy who created the majority of the crisis in my life.

  That’s what tequila will do for a girl.

  I take another sip.

  “How long have you lived in Cayman?”

  “Oh no.” I hold up my finger. “You don’t get to ask me questions. Drinks. That’s all.”

  “Okay. No talking. Just drinking.” He sips his tequila but I get the feeling it’s not okay.

  Diana returns. I watch the ocean, listen to the drone of voices around me and sip my tequila. The bar starts filling up as the sun dips and my glass never seems to empty. Diana scurries off to wait tables but always returns. I half listen to her flirt with Zach.

  He answers her questions and I try not to wonder when he’s going to ask her to go home with him.

  I don’t care.

  I really don’t.

  My tequila-fuzzed brain turns to my Mom. Sh
e’d been twenty, around my age when she came to Cayman. She’d planned on staying a year. Supporting herself by waiting tables and diving as much as possible. That’d been her plan.

  Then she met Jonas Knightly.

  She hadn’t waited tables long. Within weeks of landing in Cayman, she met Jonas and for a while, she lived a fairy tale. Before she knew it, one year turned into two.

  The fairytale turned into a nightmare when she found out she was pregnant and wouldn’t abort the baby, who eventually turned out to be me. She headed back to the states and struggled the rest of her too-short life, always tired, always broke, only really living for two weeks each year when she’d return to the ocean.

  I filled in most of the information on my own. She wouldn’t even tell me Jonas’s name. I’d sleuthed that out by checking her browsing history on the computer. I wish she’d confided more in me. I could have taken care of her better. But now, all I could do was make Jonas pay.

  “Wow, you go deep, don’t you?” Zach slides a finger down my biceps where it rests next to his on the bar.

  I jerk away. Not because his touch disgusts me, but because it doesn’t. Because I want him to touch me in other places. Places that make me blush.

  Too much tequila. Way too much tequila.

  I’m surprised to see the sun has set and full night has fallen.

  “You and Diana are hitting it off.” Of all the things I can say, what the hell is that?

  Zach locates Diana standing beside a table of drunks, laughing. She likes to wait on drunks because she overcharges them and sometimes slips a ticket to more than one person at the table. The girl knows how to make money. “She’s pretty sparkly, isn’t she?”

  I nod, which is a mistake since the whole world warps with the movement. “You guys make a cute couple.”

  He laughs and those adorable dimples deepened. Shit. “She’s not my type.”

  I blow a raspberry. “Diana is everybody’s type. She’s gorgeous and funny and likes to have a good time.”

  From my wobbly state I try to judge Zach’s drunk to sober ratio. The first time I’d seen him he was wasted, and the next time hungover. I assume he likes to drink. Tonight, he looks straight. I’d seen him sip a shot but haven’t been monitoring him.