Oh my good God. “Is this a one-time thing, or are people genetically prone to it?”
“You get used to boats. Usually. Some people never do.”
Seagulls squawk as they fly near the Harborwalk. A small fishing boat motors past us. I finally dare to lift my head, and Lucky jerks his hand away. After a sickening moment when blood rushes back to where it belongs, I sit back in my seat and breathe. I’m okay. Not sick. Where’s the horizon? There. Okay. Not sure that really helps, because too many boats keep speeding past it, but at least we’re not moving.
I shift my focus to a nearby sign that warns of deep water.People need a sign to tell them not to swim here? I swear, people will post a sign for anything. People are strange. Thank God for strangeness.
Wish Lucky’s hand was still on my back.
His sunglasses rest atop his head, and he’s twisted in his seat, one bare knee up between us, elbows resting behind him on the edge of the boat. He squints at me and says bluntly, “So … you talked to Bunny.”
Right. That. “I ran into her. Your name came up, I didn’t—”
“It’s fine.”
“I wasn’t gossiping about you.”
“No?” He studies my face with a curious kind of enjoyment in his gaze. “That’s disappointing to hear.”
“She was telling me that some things I heard were wrong … and that you apparently are not the father of her child.”
“No, I am not. Not hers, not anyone’s.”
“Okay, that’s good. Not that there’s anything …” Ugh. Awkward. “I mean, if you …” One more time. “I guess I don’t know why people ever said that about you and Bunny to begin with?”
“People say that because I drove her to an abortion clinic.”
Oh.
He shrugs lightly. “I found her crying. She needed someone to drive her and couldn’t tell her family. None of her friends would help, and the jackass who should have been helping had ghosted her. So I went with her and waited, and then I drove her back home in her car. We’re friends, that’s all.”
I nod. “I see.”
“Someone saw us coming out of the clinic. That’s how the rumor started.”
“Assumptions aren’t facts,” I murmur, remembering things Bunny said.
“No, but people sure do love to make them.”
“They make a lot of them about you,” I note.
“Yep.”
“You don’t seem to mind. I think you want people to talk.”
“That’s absurd. Why would I want that?”
“I don’t know,” I say in a quiet voice. “Why would you?”
He stares at me.
I stare at him.
And something hangs in the air between us. Something unsaid that I almost understand, but not quite. Something hewantsme to understand. He’s looking at me as if he’s stranded alone on a deserted island and I’ve found his message in a bottle. Like he wants me to rescue him.
But that can’t be right, can it? Because he’s the one with the savior complex—as Bunny said. He’s the one who rescued her … who took the fall for me. Why wouldheneed help?
Our boat bobs in the water, threatening another wave of wooziness and joggling my arm into Lucky’s leg that’s propped up between the seats. I look down. The skin-to-skin contact is a shock. He’s so feverishly warm in the cool breeze blowing off the harbor. It feels … too intimate. As if I’ve crossed the linesomehow by accidently touching him—which is ridiculous. It’s just a shin. Just my forearm. Nothing sexy. For the love of Pete, he was rubbing my back a second ago, practically a massage, which everyone knows is a million times more risqué, if we’re racking up steam points. Right … ?
