Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“And food?” The preppy guy holds platters in each hand—one of veggies and dip, the other fruit. The two striking blonds behind him carry grocery bags stuffed with chips and soda against their ample bikini-clad chests. White bikinis, at that. Brave girls. Who are they in this mix? A jealous twinge in my gut says they’re not also Connor’s sisters.
Has Ronan fucked either of them?
Is he fucking one right now? Am I about to shuttle Ronan and his girlfriend around for the afternoon?
This is going from bad to worse, very quickly.
“Plenty of ice in the cooler.” I force a wide smile and step back, allowing them space to pass. The dock rocks with their shifting weight.
Finally, Ronan reaches the tiki boat, his ripped arms laden with boxes of margarita cans.
I hold my breath as he stalls, his looming body so close taking me back to those shared moments in an instant. My traitorous pulse races once again.
“Hey, sea witch.” His voice is as raspy as ever.
I can’t ignore him, as much as I’d like to. “Hi.”
Simple.
Cordial.
Civilized.
Nothing like our last encounter, which ended with me naked and letting him come inside me.
Chaos erupts as everyone tosses cans into the drink trough, their laughter and giddiness carrying across the slips. It’s a suitable distraction.
“I had no idea Ryan booked this until ten minutes ago,” Ronan continues.
Steeling my nerve, I meet his hidden gaze head-on. “Will that be a problem for you and your friends?”
His lips part but he stalls, studying me for a lengthy moment that weighs me down, even as I do my best to appear unbothered. “No problem at all.”
“Good.” My tone, by comparison, is clipped.
“And they are all just friends.”
“I didn’t ask.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up. With amusement? Is this a game to him? “I wanted to call but—”
“The sooner you take your seat, the sooner we can leave,” I blurt loudly, cutting off his lame excuse for ghosting me.
“Yeah, come on, you heard the captain! Stop dragging your lazy ass. These ladies flew here to have some fun.” Connor ropes his giant arms around the two bleached blonds, pulling them snug against his chest. For their part, they don’t fight it, smashing their curvy bodies into him with giggles, their palms resting on his ample pecs.
I stifle the urge to roll my eyes.
Ronan sighs heavily. “I hope you’re ready for a long afternoon.”
“You don’t say.” Every nerve ending in my body seems on edge as he moves away, leaving the delicious scent of mint for me to trail.
“Hey, you got a sound system on here? Sweet. I’m gonna jump on that,” Connor declares, pulling out his phone.
“No!” Ryan and Ronan exclaim in unison.
“So, everyone just hangs out here all day?” Rachel, the blond with the high ponytail, stares in awe at the cluster of anchored watercraft ahead, a medley of pontoons, speedboats, and modified barges like this tiki bar, plus the odd—and in my view, annoying—Jet Ski. The fact that Sea Witch invested in several for money-making purposes has no bearing on my personal opinion.
“Hang, swim, float, drink.” I navigate us toward the left side of the sandbar as a throaty male singer belts out a twangy country song over the speakers—Connor won the playlist battle simply by being too quick on the draw for anyone to stop him. “Any given day in season, we’ll have hundreds of boats out here. Once, last summer, they counted over a thousand.”
The other blond, Katie, mouths “Wow” while Kyle—Ryan’s boyfriend—whistles.
“Sounds like I need to get myself a boat.” Connor polishes off the rest of his beer and, first crushing the can in his massive hand, tosses it freestyle into the trash bin beside me.
“Hot dogs?” Ryan points to the nearby dinghy with the bright yellow flag affixed to the back.
“Yup. We have vendors selling everything from ice cream to Chick-Fil-A to slushies. Even coffee.” And they’re all employed by Ian Sanders, a bloated councilman who convinced the county to limit the Starfish Island vendor licensing to avoid oversaturation. Guess who got all of them? Sanders Sandbar Merchants—his company. He has a full monopoly. It’s been a sore spot for the Sea Witch for years.
I toss a wave at the sheriff’s patrol boat—Jimmy’s behind the wheel today. I know a lot of them. Gigi used to know them all. She’d drop off home-baked banana muffins every now and then and memorized their names while ensuring they knew ours.
As much as I hate baking, I should probably get back to that tradition.
“So, when did you guys come up with this floating tiki bar idea?” Ronan asks. The question catches me off guard. It’s the first time he’s spoken directly to me since we undocked. He’s been quiet, in general—nothing more than a “Sure, thanks” or a “Nah, I’m good” to questions thrown his way. But he has texted someone several times.