I had a hard time imagining Alex scared of anything, especially after he’d had emergency stitches and taken on that primary today. “Are you scared of heights or something?”
“No,” he said. “I’m scared of hitting the water wrong and breaking my neck.”
“Alex, you won’t die unless you jump off like a doofus.”
“I’m a doofus sometimes,” he said.
“That may be true, but I think you’ve got just enough sense to jump off a yacht safely.” I stood from the hot tub, then remembered I was standing right beside him in only my bra and underwear and hurried out of it. “Come on, Chef Alex. We’re doing this.”
“You mean now?” Alex, still in the hot tub, looked as if I’d suggested bathing in jellyfish.
I snapped up two clean towels from beside the bar and wrapped one around myself before returning to the hot tub. I tried not to laugh at Alex’s stricken face when I passed him the other. It was nice to be the one makinghimflustered for once. “Yes, now. No self-respecting yachtiehasn’tjumped off a yacht.”
“I have no self-respect,” he said. “And my hand.” He waved it in front of me. “I can’t get it wet.”
“Hold that thought,” I said. I raced down to the crew mess and found a Ziploc bag and a roll of duct tape. Supplies in hand, I paused at the bar on the sun deck and poured out two shots of tequila.
Alex was sitting on a lounge chair when I returned, a towel wrapped around his waist. “We’re all out of gin martinis,” I said, and passed him the shot glass.
“What’s this for?”
“Nerves.”
“I don’t see how a shot will make me less likely to break my neck.”
I gave him a blank stare. “Are you going to get drunk off of one shot?” He shook his head. “Will this even make you tipsy?” He shook his headagain. “Drink it or not, but I promise it’ll be worth it if you jump off this ship.”
Alex narrowed his eyes at me. “What do you get out of this?”
I shrugged. “The privilege of being the one to pop your yacht-jumping cherry.”
“That is a coveted title,” he replied, nodding seriously. “Okay, I’ll do it. I can’t deny you that.”
I held out my shot, and Alex sighed, clinking his glass to mine. After downing the tequila, his eyes darted to the Ziploc bag and duct tape. “Are you... planning to murder me?”
“It’s for your hand.” I sat next to him on the lounge chair and reached for his arm, slipping the Ziploc bag gently over his hand and duct taping it until it was airtight.
I grabbed Alex’s good hand and pulled him to his feet, dragging him to the best jumping spot on the aft deck.
“How far is it?” Alex asked, looking pale as we slipped beyond the railing.
“Twenty-five feet.”
“The water in the marina... it’s deep enough, right?”
“It’s deep enough,” I said. “I’ve done this a million times. We’ll be fine.” We dropped our towels behind us, and I took Alex’s hand in mine again. “Don’t chicken out, okay? If you don’t jump and I end up pulling you off, we’ll both hit the water wrong. It will definitely clear your head, but maybe not in the way you’d like. Hold your bad hand against your chest and just stay vertical. On three, okay?”
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to make me more or less nervous,” Alex said, squeezing my hand tighter. He looked at me, then out at the water and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I can do this. See? My head feels clearer already. I’ve completely forgotten about the charter.”
“Clearly not, since you just brought it up.”
“But I won’t be thinking about it soon,” he said. “Not once we jump off this thing. Then we’ll forget all about it.”
I kept my eyes on the water below as he spoke. My pulse quickened with each second that passed. Why I suddenly felt nervous, I had no idea. I wasn’t afraid of jumping. And it definitely wasn’t because I was standing on the edge of a twenty-million-dollar yacht, in my underwear, holding the hand of my hot neighbor slash coworker, who was also in his underwear, and whom I didnothave feelings for outside of a completely normal physical attraction.
“No offense, Alex, but I need you to stop talking,” I said.
“No talking. Right. Shit, I’m still talking. Okay, I’m done talking... right... now.”
