Even if it’s only temporary.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” she casually begins, finger pointing to the left side of the screen.“This sideis the currents map for the time the ship went down-”
“Hypothetically,” leaves me in an instant.“Using my own program, I took the information I could scrape together from various sources, fed it through a filter, applied additional variables, tweaked a few things using the previously unknown information the royal prick provided – including the supposed positioning of the moon which affects the tides – and managed to reconstruct somethingtheoretically similar.”
“Uh-huh,” Salay brushes off with an amused eye roll, “andthis side,” she gestures to the other half, “is thecurrentcurrents map for the area we’re going to be exploring-”
“Secured from an advanced satellite system intended for naval missions.”
“Naturally, John King,” escapes the beauty on a giggle.
“Who?”
“The youngest pirate on record.”
“I think I’d be a good pirate.”
“You’d be a terrible pirate,” she playfully announces, bright beam remaining.
“Receipts?”
“You don’t even know the different types of ships.”
My mouth aimlessly bobs for several seconds prior to nodding in concession.“That tracks.”
“I’m aware.”
More laughter freely bounces between us reminding me of how we spent the afternoon when weweren’tin mating mode.
While I love big cats – shout out to the Siberian tiger – I vibe with learning aboutalltypes of creatures, and it just so happens that our own Little Mermaid here knows some shit about some shit when it comes to marine life.
We shot the shit about whales.
Dolphins.
Lobsters.
Both rockand electric.
We laughed and argued and laughed again.
It was the best unofficial first date I think I’ve ever had.
Shoving crab imperial stuffed mushrooms into my mouth while verifying banking data during a vintage car auction with Garcia easily comes in as a close second.
At least Salay can admit she’s attracted to me.
And at least I know at the end of our night, she’s probably not gonna end up banging one of the models over the hood of a fully restored 1958 Jaguar Roadster.
Her arm drapes itself across my lower stomach at the same time she asks, “Andwhatexactly is the point of all this?”
“To help narrow downwhereyou’ll start diving.”It’s impossible not to tug her closer.“Plus, once I find a rough draft of the ship’s manifest or inventory list or whatever they used to call it in the ancient days, I can get a better idea of exactly what it is you need to bring to the surface to serve as enoughproofwe’ve found the sunken ship and didn’t just fake some shit to get Weslington’s foot off my hard drive.”
She struggles not to smirk over my word choice.“What are you thinkin’?”
“Probably a painting?”
“Unlikely to be found undamaged enough to generally be accepted as a non-forgery.”
