Jett’s teeth scraped his lip while he hesitated. I considered how to release him from the small moment of awkwardness and potential embarrassment.
But then he opened his mouth and spoke.
“I went to high school with Hunter Berringer.”
The last name got my attention. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“He’s Cy Berringer’s son. Cy runs Lowcountry Hazard Transport. They handle?—”
I barked out a laugh. “I know what they handle, Jett. But being friends with a kid in high school doesn’t give you?—”
“He’s my brother’s best friend. I spent half my time at his house growing up. His mom was good friends with one of my dads.”
I stared at him. “One of your dads.”
His eyes opened infinitesimally wider. “Um, yeah. I have two dads. I thought I told you that?”
What was I supposed to say?Your extensive background check revealed a single mother and no siblings, so what the actual fuck?
“So explain what kind of exposure you had to hazmat shipments. As a high schooler.” I folded my arms over my chest.
He sucked in a loud, annoyed breath. “Hypothetically, I was around when he had phone calls about finding creative ways to evade inspections, ducking into unexpected ports to wait out unpleasant traffic, timing certain runs to deliberately hit bad weather. I know that sometimes certain ships pull the fuck over to avoid getting caught doing shady shit. I know that the shipping business sometimes… skates the rules.” His eyes met mine. “A little like privateers.”
I huffed. “I’m not Cy Berringer. Maris doesn’t do ‘shady shit’ anymore.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. You’re no angel. You hired a fucking prostitute, for god’s sake.”
His last sentence was a gut punch that literally stole my breath.
When I’d asked Jett to accompany me, he’d joked about being my whore. The comment had rankled, but I hadn’t rebutted it. In fact, I’d told myself it was better for both of us if we looked at our arrangement that way.
Then I’d reminded myself over and over, these past few days, that Jett was someone hired to do a job. Someone who didn’t genuinely like me. Someone I couldn’t trust. Someone I didn’t have to give a shit about.
But hearing that word come off his tongue now felt wrong on every level.
“Watch your mouth,” I growled. “I’ve never once called you that, and you shouldn’t call yourself that either.”
Jett’s eyes widened, and I couldn’t help but notice the way they caught the warm light from the open terrace doors. They were ten times more compelling than the actual water beyond the terrace.
His expression softened. “My point is, whatever you’re doing in the Kiel Canal, you’re not going to shock me. I can help you better if you tell me what’s going on.”
I hesitated.
Jett stood up and moved behind me, clasping the muscles of my shoulders with his strong hands and digging his thumbs in to massage tight muscles. “I signed an NDA, Locke. If you trust me not to tell anyone about the dick sucking, trust me not to tell them about the shady shit.”
“I don’t do shady shit,” I grumbled. “I mean it.”
The sound of his laughter helped ease the tightness in my shoulders. “Fine. I promise not to tell anyone about the strictly legal way in which you’re planning in advance for one of your ships to pull over for an emergency.”
I grunted noncommittally. Then I closed my eyes and allowed myself to enjoy the massage for a few minutes. After a while, Jett began humming something almost under his breath.
“What’s that song?” I asked, tilting my head back to rest on his stomach as his hands moved to massage my chest. It felt ten times better than the massages I got regularly back home. “I know it.”
He laughed softly. “Because it’s played fucking everywhere. You can’t escape it. Like an earworm from hell.”
“What is it?”
“‘Not Mine’ by Lyra Vale.”
