There’s a long pause where I try to defend myself to Nicky. But then my phone buzzes in my hand.
Anthony Voss:
Fine. New plan.
Come sailing with me.
Me:
Come again?
Anthony Voss:
I will if you let me.
Me:
Smooth. What do you mean “sailing?”
Anthony Voss:
Are you unaware of what a boat is, princess?
Let me put this in simpler terms for the woman with a master’s in communication.
Ship. Ocean. Sunshine. Water. Sunglasses. Bathing suits. You, on my lap, hopefully.
I cover my grin with the neckline of my shirt.
Anthony Voss:
It’s a very normal thing people do. And it’s unseasonably warm today. Let’s take advantage of it.
Unless you’re afraid of water…?
Me:
I’m afraid of sharks
Anthony Voss:
I’m scarier than sharks, and you let me fuck you multiple times a week.
Me:
You’ve got a point.
Anthony Voss:
Is that a yes?
Nicky watches me over the rim of her glass. “What? What is he saying?”
I bite at my thumbnail. “He’s invited me to go sailing,” I say, letting a little confusion into my voice.
“Wait, like a date?”
“I have no idea.” Another message pops up with an address and a note that assumes I’ll be there in an hour.
