by R.S. Grey
Julian laughed and kept hold of my elbow as I stepped forward onto the boat. Once I was sure of myself, I stepped out of his grasp and took in Dean, instantly feeling better about my outfit.
The girls I’d seen might have been dressed to the nines, but Dean was ready to party. He was wearing a captain’s hat, a loose Hawaiian shirt, and black swimming trunks. He looked silly and yet still devastatingly handsome. His Hawaiian shirt was unbuttoned and his tan chest was on full display. Clearly, opening and running multiple restaurants still allowed plenty of time for the gym.
“Finally a girl who knows how to dress for a day on the water!” Dean said, reaching for my hand and forcing me to spin around in a circle. I played along and laughed. Normally I would have shied away from a display like that, but I wanted to tease Julian any chance I could get.
“Easy,” Julian warned from behind me, his tone suddenly harsher than it’d been a second before.
I frowned and turned back, ready to argue, but Julian was staring out over the side of the boat as if he hadn’t just acted like a jealous boyfriend. Dean dropped my hand and took a step back.
“Well then,” Dean said, holding out his arm to usher us farther onto his boat. “Let the festivities begin.”
Chapter Seventeen
Josephine
Dean’s choice of booze? Epic. Dean’s choice of party music? Awesome. Dean’s choice of female friends? Lackluster.
The girls onboard the yacht were just as snooty and stuck-up as I’d feared they would be. The fact that my bikini came from Target would have probably sent them all into conniption fits. They were each decked out in name brands that even the most fashionably inept person would recognize: Berkin bags (because, duh, that’s a good choice for sailing), Michael Kors wedges, Chloé sunglasses, Chanel scarves, and dresses that cost four times my rent. Y’know, just casual outfits for the high seas…
They weren’t all bad, though. There was a tall, gorgeous black girl named Nadine. She and her friend, Kelly, both worked for a PR firm in the city. I got a good vibe from the two of them. I’ll be honest though, it’s mostly because they complimented my cover-up. Then there was Kensington Beatrice Waldorf III. (How’s that for a name?) When I joked with her about a nickname, she reluctantly offered up Kenzie. She was an accessories editor at Wardrobe Magazine and actively sneered when I mentioned I was from Texas.
“So you rode horses to school and all that?” she asked with a look of horror.
For two seconds, I couldn’t tell if she was being serious.
“Longhorns, actually,” Julian offered from where he stood a few feet away. He and Dean were busy popping the lids off beers so they could pass them out around the group.
Nadine and Kelly cracked up, but Kenzie shrugged and stared down at her phone, clearly bored.
Alrighty then…
After I had a cold beer in hand, I took a moment to explore the deck. I’d been on plenty of boats in my life, but none of them compared to the behemoth Dean owned. I had to squint to make out the top of the main sail; it was that tall. The deck was covered in polished teak and lined with clean, white cushions for lounging.
At the front of the yacht was a u-shaped seating area surrounding a built-in cooler, currently overflowing with wine and beer. A shallow walkway led around the u-shaped couch so that people could sunbathe near the bow of the boat. Something told me these New York girls weren’t about to ruin their flawless skin with a day in the sun and I’d likely have the entire lounge area to myself later.
“Josephine!” Dean called from the back of the boat where he was gathered with Julian and a few new people. I guessed they must have boarded when I was checking out the sunbathing spot.
“What’s up?” I asked as I ventured back toward them.
“Julian told me you’ve been craving a margarita.”
I felt my cheeks redden as my gaze slid to Julian. I had enough southern etiquette engrained in me to know that it was rude to start making drink demands at a party.
“No, no. I already have a beer and it’s more than perfect,” I assured him, even holding up the bottle to prove it.
Dean smiled. “Too late. George already turned on the margarita machine downstairs and now I’m craving one too.” He waggled his brows playfully. “Besides, I’m all about satisfying needs.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Dean was already talking to another guest and I didn’t want to be even more rude. Julian came to stand beside me and took the beer out of my hand. I glared over at him.
“You weren’t supposed to say anything,” I hissed under my breath.
“You deserve a margarita,” Julian said with a shrug.
“I just don’t want to be rude,” I said, watching him bring my beer to his lips and swallow back nearly half of it. I guess he assumed I didn’t need it anymore since I was about to get a much-deserved margarita.
“You couldn’t be rude if you tried,” he argued with a knowing smile. “Now what should we do? We have another fifteen minutes until we set sail.”
I scanned the boat. The girls were standing in a group near the bow, rifling through the wine options. Near the back, new guests were piling in, greeting Dean like an old friend. There were already ten or fifteen people on the boat and I only knew two of them. I felt like a fish out of water.
“Do you know many of these people?” I asked.
Julian scanned the crowd. “I recognize a few faces, but I’ve been out of New York too long.”
“Looks like it’s you and me then,” I said, catching his eye.
He smiled and I took a moment to study him there. He’d put on a ball cap once we’d stepped onto the boat. The shadow beneath the brim did its best to hide his hazel eyes, but they persisted, as bright and alluring as ever.
“Want me to take a few photos for your blog? Are you going to do a post about this?”
“Are you serious? Yes!”
I’d wanted to take photos the second we’d stepped onto the boat. I knew my readers would die over Dean’s yacht, but I’d been too embarrassed to broach the subject myself. I didn’t want Julian to think I was a dweeb.
“I didn’t bring my camera though,” I lamented, opening up my bag to confirm what I already knew to be true. I hadn’t wanted to take the chance that it would get wet. If it got damaged, it’d take me months to replace it.
Julian held up his iPhone. “I'll just use my phone. They won’t be perfect, but I’m sure you can tweak them once you get home.”
I nodded and dropped my bag onto one of the lounge chairs nearby. If I stood against the railing, most of the marina would be hidden off to the left. The water and the sky would make for a perfect backdrop for the first few photos.
“Who usually takes your photos?” Julian asked as I tried to strike a pose that wouldn’t be too obnoxious. I usually took photos when no one was around; I didn’t really need Dean’s girlfriends as an audience.
“Other than the day I helped you,” he clarified.
“My landlady,” I admitted with a sheepish smile.
He snapped two photos and then I tried a different pose. I stretched my arms out against the railing and smiled at the camera. I’d realized early on that my blog photos turned out best when I didn’t pretend to know how to model. There were a few standard poses: up close shot of the outfit accessories, subtle glance over the shoulder, active interest in something on the ground, and then a subtle smile that looked mysterious on other bloggers, but only ever made me look constipated.
“But I almost put an ad up on Craigslist the other day,” I mentioned.
“For a photographer?” he asked, clearly unimpressed. He lowered his iPhone as he waited for my reply.
“Yes,” I shrugged, “but then I realized that I’d probably end up on some fetish porn site or something.”
Julian laughed and shook his head.
“Uh, yeah, Jo, don’t hire a photographer off Craigslist.”
Clearly he didn’t understand how hard it was to find a ph
otographer who would take photos for free.
“I just need to find someone better than my landlady. She takes the blurriest photos and I basically have to bribe her into taking them. Last week she made me listen to like two hours of her stories ‘from the homeland’ before she finally agreed. After thirty minutes, I ended up with three photos of my blurry face and about thirty photos of her thumb covering the lens.”
Julian laughed, his deep dimples driving me as insane as ever. He snapped a few more photos while I tried to focus on anything but his appearance. His face was already hard to behold, but somehow the baseball cap brought out a new layer of appeal.
“I can always help you, y’know,” he offered as he held his phone up for me to inspect the photos he’d just taken. I stepped closer and watched him scroll through them, ignoring the exhilarating feeling of being close to him.
“You say that now,” I joked, “but you’ll realize soon that this volunteer job has very few benefits. You just have to follow me around and snap as many photos as you can.”
“I can think of a few benefits,” he offered, with unmistakable lust in his tone.
I stared at his mouth, at the lips that had just formed those seductive words. They were right there, so close that I could reach out and steal a kiss. I inhaled once, slowly, and then convinced myself I’d read too much into his statement.
“Julian, less play-flirting. More snapping,” I said, helpless to prevent the smile spreading across my face as I stepped back toward the railing.
I peered over at him from beneath my lashes and waited for him to start taking photos. He didn’t. He stared straight at me with his eyes full of questions and his lips full of unspoken desire.
“Who said anything about play?” he finally asked.
It was his dark brow, subtly raised beneath the brim of his baseball cap that made my stomach dip low.
We were entering dangerous territory.
Chapter Eighteen
Julian
For the past few weeks, I’d done my best to give Josephine her space. Every urge that wasn’t strictly wholesome, I’d ignored. Mostly. We danced around each other, flirting and teasing, assuming it was all in good fun. Now, as I watched her accept a margarita from Dean and laugh at whatever babble he was throwing her way, I fought the desire to walk closer and slip my hand beneath her cover-up. I’d run my hand along the curve of her ass and up over her hip. The bikini offered up no shortage of soft skin, ready for exploration.
Once she had her drink, she glanced over her shoulder and found me sitting against the edge of the boat. I didn’t look away and she tilted her head in question. I held my beer up and smiled. She laughed and followed suit, holding her margarita up in a long-distance salute.
My gaze traveled over her as she took the first sip of her drink. The sun shined through the thin cotton and for once I was graced with every inch of her hourglass figure. Had she worn that outfit knowing full well it would drive me insane? Had she tied that string around her neck considering the fact that I’d be the one untying it at the end of the day?
I gulped down another sip of her beer and stared out at the horizon, trying to subdue the caveman part of my brain. The beer did little to soothe the ache caused by Josephine.
Fuck.
As much as I wanted Josephine, I had to remember that she was my employee.
I needed to get laid. I needed one night with someone less vulnerable, less employed by me. Josephine had moved to New York a month ago. She had no friends, no connections. If something happened, I’d most likely be her emergency contact. That knowledge came with certain responsibilities. Sinking my dick into her would be an amateur move, something I would have gladly done in my twenties, too preoccupied with the ache in my pants to worry about the consequences of my actions. I could only imagine the conversation she’d have with her parents. “Yeah, my job is good. My boss tried to fuck me on a boat yesterday.”
“How ya holdin’ up, champ? You look like you’re about to crush that beer bottle in your hand,” Dean said, patting my shoulder as he took the seat beside me.
“Great,” I muttered, squinting out toward the ocean.
“Are you pissed I invited Jo?” he asked, leaning back against the cushion.
I thought of how to answer and then I caught the tail end of her laugh. Fuck me. Fuck me.
“I think I’m in trouble with that situation,” I offered, not bothering to turn his way.
Dean was the gloating type. There was no need to feed his ego.
He laughed and hung his head. “Took you three weeks to realize something I saw the first five minutes I was around you two.”
“Maybe you’re a fucking psychic,” I muttered sarcastically, angry at the wrong person.
He patted my shoulder.
“You need to relax. We’re on a boat, my friend. Not to mention, we have a dozen ladies onboard who would be more than willing to deal with that little problem Jo has caused in your pants.”
“What did I cause?” Jo asked, a few feet back.
I squeezed my eyes closed and willed her to walk away.
“Julian?” she asked.
I ignored her.
Dean shook his head and moved away. “C’mon, Jo. I’ll make you another margarita. Julian is having a little temper tantrum.”
I gripped my beer and stared down at the label with every ounce of willpower I had.
“Why?” she asked as Dean wrapped his arm around her shoulders and dragged her away.
Thank god Josephine had the sense to follow him.
I stayed right where I was and finished off the beer I stole from Josephine with a sense of determination. As soon as I was done, I popped the cap off another one. Drinking away my problems was a new endeavor for me, one that I knew would never work in the long run. For now, I was only concerned with the next six hours (i.e. being stuck on a fucking boat with Josephine while my hormones raged inside me like a fourteen-year-old).
My plan was to drink beer until my vision blurred and my limbs went numb. That way I wouldn’t be in any danger of doing something stupid with Jo. I’d fully committed to my drinking-induced-coma plan when one of Dean’s friends, Kiki or Kenzie or something, sidled up beside me on the edge of the deck.
“Is that one for me?” she cooed, glancing down at the beer beside my foot. I glanced at her, back down to the drink, and then I shrugged. I wanted to tell her to go find her own drink. I had no clue how long we were sailing and there was a finite amount of liquor, but if she wanted to steal my beer, then so be it. I wasn’t an asshole.
“All right then,” she said with a laugh, like I was being funny.
I wasn’t.
“Are you usually this quiet?” she asked, turning toward me so that her knee bumped against mine. I studied the contact, wondering if there would have been a spark between us before Josephine had weaseled her way into my life, cause there sure as shit wasn’t one now.
I took a deep breath and cut her some slack.
“No. I’m in a quiet mood today,” I muttered.
“Strong and silent type, eh?”
I ignored the urge to turn around and find Josephine, to see if she was hanging out with Dean or if she’d found a different guy to spend time with. There were plenty of guys on the boat. Plenty of them who were smart enough to realize Josephine was the best option, the only option, to spend time with during our voyage out into the…
Where?
The New York harbor?
“Where the hell are we even going?”
The girl beside me giggled again. “Out into the open-ocean! Like real sailors!”
I scanned over her. Sailors don’t wear high heels, but I decided not to point that out to her.
“You know what? On second thought, I think I’m going to need that beer back.”
She scrunched her brows in confusion.
I pointed to the drink in her hand.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
That pretty much sealed my fate
. She muttered something about me being a brooding asshole as I walked away, but I just tipped my bottle to her and swallowed down another mouthful of now-lukewarm beer.
Cheers, assholes.
After my fifth beer, I knew I’d made a mistake. I needed to slow down. We were in open ocean, out far enough that if I decided I’d had enough and wanted to jump ship, I’d only manage to swim back about halfway before getting eaten by sharks. I cringed at the thought. As terrible as that experience sounded, at least I’d be done with the charade I was playing. I’d be far away from Josephine and her siren call.
“What’s your plan here, Julian? To drink up all of my good beer until we’re left with the girly shit?” Dean asked, leaning against the rail next to me.
I ignored his line of questioning and peered over my shoulder to see if Josephine was still chatting with some guy near the bow of the ship.
“Who’s that she’s talking to?” I asked, lacking my usual knack for subtlety.
“That’s Eric, one of my managers at The Merchant.”
He was looking at Jo like she was water in the desert.
“Is he into women?” I asked.
Dean choked on his beer.
“I’m not sure. Want me to ask if he’s interested in you?”
I resisted the urge to punch him in the face.
“Why don’t you go tell him that if he keeps talking to Jo, we’re going to have a big problem.”
Even to my drunk ears, I knew I sounded like a douchebag, and not even an intimidating douchebag at that.
“Wow. You want me to tell him you’ll be waiting for him by the flagpole at recess?”
Dean was laughing, but I couldn’t find the humor in the situation. I was frustrated beyond my boiling point. Something was about to happen and if I wasn’t careful, I’d do something that could ruin my relationship with Jo.
“Well, if you don’t like them talking, I wouldn’t turn around now,” he said.
Of course, like a fucking idiot, I turned to look over my shoulder and saw Eric rubbing sunscreen on Josephine. She’d pulled her cover-up down to expose her shoulders and back, and Eric looked like a man finding a bag of treasure at the end of a rainbow.
