Ties (6 page)

“Right.” Genevieve’s eyes drill into mine, her eyebrows raised high. “There are even great whites off this beach sometimes. But, I mean, that wouldn’t stop someone rational from enjoying the experience of swimming in the water, right? The fear of getting eaten by a shark could never outweigh the pleasure of being out in the ocean, floating along without a care.”

I can’t stifle my laugh at her metaphor.

Subtle as a sledgehammer, Genevieve!

“Um, don’t people always throw around that statistic about more people dying from bee stings than shark bites?” Ryan adds, clearly confused.

“They do,” I say, my eyes still locked with Genevieve’s, the beginning of a smile creeping along the side of my mouth. Against all better judgment, I relent. “Fine.
One drink
. That’s all.”

Her grin is pure triumph. “One drink, just the three of us.” She links an arm through mine and whispers, “Now, there’s a brave girl.”

Ryan gets into his small, busted truck after he tells us the way, and Genevieve’s smile goes from triumphant to distinctly sheepish.

She licks her lips and stares dead ahead. “Sorry. You barely know me and here I am, bossing you around about who to go on a date with.”

“It’s
not
a date,” I insist. “You’ll be there. And it’s fine. You remind me so much of my best friend Mei. She’s always telling me I like inventing the world’s craziest reasons to avoid guys.”

“Oh.” Genevieve stares harder out the windshield. “Are you not into guys? Oh my God, I’m such an ass. I should have asked--”

“No, it’s fine,” I laugh. “I like guys. I mean, I
want
to like guys. They just tend to irritate me. Or disappoint me. Or I just project these really low expectations...and then they live up to them.”

“Well, I don’t know why, but I get a vibe off this guy--”

“A vibe?” I interrupt, and can’t help laughing out loud at that. “That is
so
California. You guys really are hippies.”

“My vibes have been scientifically proven to work out,” Genevieve insists with a huff. “You wait and see. This one...he’s going to be the one who surpasses all your expectations.”

I snort. “Mei tells me there can’t possibly be more than a dozen guys in the world who would meet my crazy expectations.”

“I didn’t say
meet
.” Genevieve pulls into a parking space next to Ryan. He gets out of his rickety ride and tosses us a smile.

A perfect, confident smile.

A smile I’d love to see more of.

“I said
surpass
.” Genevieve pokes me and hops out of the Jeep.

I slide out and try not to be impressed with the gentlemanly way he holds the door and the fact that he listens carefully to what we want before he insists on lining up to order while we sit. He keeps glancing over his shoulder like he’s nervous we’ll bolt at any second, and it makes Genevieve press her hand to her heart and whimper.

“A-freaking-dorable,” she sighs, bumping my shoulder. “If I wasn’t a happily married woman, I’d be going out with him tonight.”

“He
is
cute,” I admit begrudgingly.

“And he has a great ass,” she sighs. I shake my head to let her know I disapprove of her ass-watching, and she shrugs helplessly. “Well he does. And I’m married. Not blind.”

“It is a nice ass,” I concede. “But you’re letting that posterior blind you to the obvious. Did you see his truck? I’m not a car snob, but that’s the kind of vehicle you drive when you’re seventeen, not in your twenties. And I think his wallet Velcro’s. Oh my God, he’s fishing out change to pay for our drinks.” I bite my lip, and I get a vibe, too.

My vibe says this is a
boy
, not a
man
, and I’m not looking for a boy. Not even for a no-strings-attached fling.

“But he paid for them. And he risked asking you out. That’s brave, Hattie. You’re intimidating as hell.” She looks at me, wide-eyed, and I nod. I’ve heard that before. Multiple times. “Plus, he has a boat. That’s probably eating up his vehicle expense. And housing expense. You should ask him about it. You know, instead of assuming your low expectation theory is working out again.”

He walks over, three cups juggled in his arms. “Strawberry-blueberry-pomegranate swirl,” he recites, handing Genevieve her cup. She thanks him warmly. He sits close to me and holds out my cup. “Pineapple vanilla with a splash of coconut milk.” The way he repeats my order makes it sound like a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What did you get?” I ask politely as Genevieve bobs in her seat, I assume happy that I’m on my best behavior.

“Seaweed and nectarine.” He holds his cup to me, straw out. “Would you like some? It’s not on the menu, but lady who runs the place loves it. It’s a hard sell. Seaweed isn’t as appetizing as all those flashy berries.”

“I’m intrigued.” I lean forward and close my lips around the straw, pulling the sweet, thick liquid in. It’s got a smooth, creamy base and a fresh tang. Like green tea ice cream. “It’s amazing.” My eyes meet his, and he smiles like I just gave him the punch line of an inside joke.

“You wanna switch?” he offers.

I shake my head. “I’m satisfied with my decision.” I nod out to his truck, which I now notice has a company logo on the driver’s side. “Is that where you work?”

“Yep.” He takes a long pull of his shake and swirls it around in the cup. “I do boat repair and maintenance.”

“Oh.” I didn’t grow up in an area where a lot of people had boats, but it makes sense that they’d need a lot of maintenance if you had them out year round. “So, you’re like a boat mechanic?”

Genevieve clears her throat. “Not all boats have engines,” she explains.

“Right.” Ryan smiles at her, and it makes his eyes crinkle on the sides in a way that I find particularly attractive. “Sometimes I’m doing pretty old-school repairs. We’re even licensed for historical reconstructions. Sometimes I handle light mechanical work, but the really complicated stuff is done by the team back at the company garage.”

“It sounds solid.”

I sound snotty and wish I didn’t.

I don’t mean to.

Just because I’m not interested in something doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate how important it is.

“It’s not my dream job.” His voice is soft, like he’s a little embarrassed that I just assumed...

Genevieve shakes her head and smiles indulgently at me.

Determined not to be an asshole, I ask, “So, what’s your dream job?”

“I want to race sailboats. Professionally.” He puts the cup down when he says this. He leans forward, and his eyes are so bright, they look like they’re sparkling.

Clearly racing is his thing.

“That’s cool,” I say as I try to wrap my brain around racing boats as a career. “Are you fast?”

He laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Fast enough for now. Unfortunately ‘for now’ isn’t going to cut it for much longer. I need to pick up my times.”

“So how do you do that? Just practice?” Genevieve asks, batting her lashes his way.

Which makes me bristle.

Which makes her quirk a half smile.

Damn. I’m easy to play.

“A good sponsor helps arrange practice time and makes sure you have the right equipment. I just landed myself a great sponsor.” He beams.

I raise my cup. “To nothing but wins from here on out.”

Genevieve taps my cup and Ryan raises his, laughing. “Well, thank you.” He looks me over and his eyes go dark, his pupils wide with raw need. “I feel like I might be on a winning streak.”

A tingle rushes from the part in my hair to the tips of my manicured toes.

Genevieve makes a big show of looking at her phone. “Oh my gosh! It’s one thirty!”

Ryan checks the bulky watch on his wrist. “It is. Are you late for something?”

“I am!” Genevieve has all the acting ability of a silent film star. She throws her hands to her cheeks and widens those pretty snake eyes. “My husband needed me to pick him up and take him to...a doctor’s appointment.”

I raise one eyebrow. “Really? What’s wrong with Adam?” I ask in my most syrupy “concerned” voice.

“He has...corns. On his...feet,” Genevieve says, grasping at straws and trying not to glare at me.

“That sucks,” Ryan says with true sympathy. “My grandma has the worst corns. You can’t even walk, they get so bad.”

“Right. They do. And he can’t,” she says, gathering her purse. “But I hate dragging Hattie to the...foot doctor...Adam is so embarrassed, you know? I
wish
she’d brought her car.”

“Bummer. Me too,” I deadpan. “Looks like it’s an afternoon of outdated National Geographics at the podiatrist’s for me. Well, it was nice to meet you, Ryan.” I stand, my hand out, ready to shake and say good-bye.

Genevieve kicks at my ankle under the table.

“No,” Ryan says, shaking his head. “C’mon, you can’t spend this gorgeous afternoon in a doctor’s office. I’ll bring you back home when you’re ready. Here.” He holds out his phone to Genevieve. “You put your number in and call yourself, so you know you have my number. I swear, I’m not some shady character. You text or call whenever you want.”

Genevieve’s gray eyes zoom to my face, all desperate and full of stupid hope.

She
did
give poor Adam corns to arrange this.

“Okay.” I cross my arms and turn to Ryan. “But I don’t want to put you out. You looked like you were working hard on your boat.”

He waves a hand, dismissing the idea of hard work.

“Nah. I’m waiting for the boat I’m going to race to dock where I can take it out. That was just me being anal retentive on my day off. You can head back to the beach and just walk over when you’re ready. I’ll be happy to take you home.”

“Oh,” Genevieve squeaks out, upset that all her best-laid plans about a romantic date are washing away like a sandcastle in the waves.

I should leave her thinking that I’m really going to spend the rest of the day laying out while Ryan scrubs his boat. But I like her too much, and her whole match-maker thing is kind of adorable. Plus that, I know damn well Ryan Byrne would find a few reasons to interrupt my laying out anyway.

So I play a good game in front of Genevieve, just so she won’t worry.

“If you weren’t busy, maybe we could grab a bite?” Maybe I sound a tiny bit airhead, but aren’t we all playing a part in this little production? “I’m just visiting, so I don’t really know the area.”

“I’d love to,” Ryan says, and, when I glance her way, Genevieve is smiling like the cat in the cream.

“Well, I feel better now. And it’s getting late, so I’m off!” she says, giving me a tight hug before she breezes to the door. “And thank you
so much
, Ryan!”

“It’s my pleasure.” He raises a hand and waves as her Jeep pulls out. I can imagine her humming to herself as she heads home to not go to a corn appointment with her husband.

“So. Corns?” Ryan asks, chuckling.

“She laid it on pretty thick, right?” I feel like a traitor, but Gen so deserves it. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. Beyond fine.” He sticks his hands in the pockets of his battered shorts. “I just feel like an ass. Is my game really that off? Your friend had to go giving her husband corns just so I had a chance of getting a date with you?”

I full on laugh. “It’s all me,” I confess. “You really weren’t going to get a date until poor Adam’s bad feet hobbled onto the scene, but don’t take offense. It’s just...I’m only visiting. I’ll only be here for a few weeks. So...”

“So, you can’t eat with anyone you meet while you’re here?” he asks, his eyebrows slunk low over his eyes. “Sorry, I’m not following.”

“It’s just...I, uh--” I realize that I implied he’d want something more than a date before I even knew if this was all just his polite reaction to Genevieve’s mania. “Eating is fine,” I finally stutter.

He squints at me. “Listen, the last thing I want to do is force you into eating with me if that’s not what you want. I’m totally serious: I’d be happy to drive you home if you’d like. Or call you a car if that would be weird. Your friend was just so determined; I hated to shoot her down. But I’m not about to trap you into eating with me if you’d rather...go read old National Geographics in a podiatrist’s office. Or whatever. I don’t judge.”

His smile is wide, and I get sucked right into it.

“No. I mean, if you’re hungry, and you want to, I’d love to eat. With you.” I run a hand over my face. “This feels so middle school. Gen should just have handed you a note that said, ‘Do you like Hattie? Circle one. Yes or No.’”

Our laughs bob and mix together.

“I definitely would have circled ‘yes,’” he assures me.

“Thank you. You’ve saved my pride.” I glance down at my cover-up and flip flops. “So, is it corndogs on the boardwalk for us? I’m not really dressed to go anywhere decent.”

“I think you look incredible,” he says, dropping all joking pretense.

Heat radiates from my thundering heart, up my neck and over my cheeks. “You, my friend, are pushing the chivalry thing too far. I guess we’re okay for pizza? Or burgers?”