Page 54 of Rum Sips and Salty Lips

She glares at me, and I have her. If another brand made good enough sun shirts, she wouldn’t make them herself. “Fine, I’ll draft a proposal. Would you want to be a regular wholesale dealer as well? Sell some leggings while you’re at it?”

“Sure, why not?” I don’t tell her I now recognize when people wear her clothes out on my boats, or the people who mention seeing her at the yoga studio the day before. She’s famous, and people like her. She deserves all the praise for the work she’s done.

But we’re out on my boat and none of that matters to me. Not when I have her undivided attention. “Can I ask you a question at the risk of upsetting you?” It’s something that’s been bugging me for days, and I want an answer.

“When has that ever stopped you?”

“You’re right. The thing you said at Paradise about being ‘body inspiration.’ What do you mean by that?”

She looks at me thoughtfully. I hope she’s not about to filter her response. I want the whole truth. “The fitness industry canbe incredibly toxic and harmful. For as much as we promote a, quote, unquote, ‘healthy lifestyle,’ people will shame anyone who’s new or doesn’t fit conventional beauty standards. I have immense privilege because I’m white and skinny.” She pauses for a moment. “I want a better message for the future.”

I nod. I can see that in Nebula Athletics’ marketing and the models they choose. Only a few look like her in the ads I’ve seen. As much as I applaud her taking care of everyone else, I’m worried she’s trying to undo all society’s flaws at once. It’s too much for one person.

But I support every fight she takes up.

An hour later, after the sun has set, we pull into the marina and her tension returns. I assume it’s because she’s never done this at night before, but I’ve done it a thousand times and the wind is calm, so it’s an easy docking. Which I tell her in a slightly taunting way. We have a “no fighting on the boat” rule. I thought she’d loosen up. She smiles but doesn’t take my bait.

She’s constantly touching me when we’re close to each other. I’ve never met another person so tactile.

“Give me a second to change,” she says when we’ve docked and everything has been stowed. I almost tell her to keep the shirt. But I know better than to suggest she wear something that isn’t hers in town. Even for the short drive to our houses.

I gather the rest of our things and am ready to head to my SUV. But Carina hasn’t appeared. I almost yell for her, but I’ve enjoyed the quiet we’ve shared. I head to the cabin where I’m sure she is.

The door is ajar. I push it open.

twenty

CARINA

I thoughtI would chicken out. So, I waited. Knowing eventually he would get impatient and come looking for me, or he would yell for me to get my ass up so we could leave. Maybe even threaten to leave me behind.

I want him to look for me.

My back is to him as he opens the door.

“Hey, I’m ready to go.” He’s calm as he says it. He’s not irritated or angry that I thoroughly fucked up his evening. I appreciate him for that. For giving me the chance to relax and forget about the hell that was my day.

My father never thinks my success is of my own making. He insists on taking credit for my sales growth even when I do the opposite of what he suggests. I couldn’t have done any of it without his investment. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t worked hard to get where I am. Or that I don’t deserve credit for my success.

Of course, I wouldn’t be so stressed if I hadn’t also decided to plan a last-minute celebration this weekend for Haley, complete with a wedding planning extravaganza with Sienna.

I thought picking the boat would relax me. It did. I feel calm on the water and in Orion’s presence. Being around him, venting my feelings to him and having him listen without trying to micromanage me, makes me feel safe. But he’s a risk. I could lose my heart to him and still be forced to see him constantly.

Right now, in his cabin, I feel safe. I want to hold on to that for a little longer.

I face Orion and step closer. I don’t want to talk or discuss this. I don’t want to fight. I simply move into his space and wait for him to react.

We know what happened the last time we were alone in this cabin. The air is warm between us.

“It was either bed or boat. It wasn’t both,” he says. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and cups my cheek. I place a kiss on the palm of his hand. “Carina, we?—”

I lift on my toes and press my lips to his. “Stop talking.”

He does as I ask and pulls me close, taking over command of the kiss. His tongue invades my mouth, and I let go.

This will end poorly, but I’m tired of seeking the right answers to everything. I want to rebel and do something I might regret. We’ve already done this once, and it wrecked me. I didn’t even know him then. Now I do, and I trust him to keep my secrets and to keep this in the little box we’ll putusin. He’ll wreck me again the way no one else has. But I can handle it.

The boat isoursafe space.

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