Page 5 of Cartel King

“Yeah.” I guess I don’t look in shape enough to be a Crossfitter.

“I can tell because you actually know what you’re doing on it.” His grin broadens, and he could be on a toothpaste or gum commercial. Did his pearly whites just twinkle?

“If you know it’s called an erg, you must be a rower, too. I’ve been rowing since high school, but not the entire time.”

“Same. I wind up going a few weeks at a time without being on the water.”

I went a few years at a time without being on the water, but I don’t want to explain.

“Is there anywhere near here? The closest I found is Van Every Cove, which isn’t too bad, but it’s still forty minutes away.”

“That’s where I go. It’s the only place that’s big enough to keep from rowing in circles.”

“Is the boathouse the only place to put in at?” I can hold my own, and I’m not embarrassed to be lapped by the high schoolers. It just gets crowded.

“There are a few other places, but they’re private entry. If you ever want to—I can get you passes.”

What was he going to say?

“That would be nice. The kids are polite enough, but some of them are oblivious with their oars. They’re too busy talking or texting.”

“Does someone need to mention it to their coaches?”

His gaze hardens just enough for me to notice, but most people wouldn’t. Is he being defensive toward me, like I’m insulting someone he knows?

“Elodie, you know as well as I do how dangerous that can be and how expensive if anything gets damaged. I know a few people there. I can mention it if it’s a problem.”

“No. I’ve heard the coaches correct them. I’m still really new to the area, so I don’t know my way around yet. That’s the only place I’m familiar with.”

“Are you new to this part of Jersey?”

“I’m new to Jersey all together. I lived in New England for a long time, but I’m originally from DC Proper.”

Let Virginians and Marylanders say they’re from DC. You’re not unless you’ve had a license plate that says Taxation Without Representation or a DC driver's license.

“New England’s gorgeous.”

“It is. But I’m understanding why New Jersey’s called the Garden State.”

“Did you assume we’re just New York’s landfill?”

I curl my teeth around my lips, trying not to laugh. I hold up my hand with my thumb and index finger close together.

“I might have a bit, but that was before I dated a guy in college who grew up not too far from here.”

“You picked the pretty part of the state.”

I glance around the neighborhood then back to Enrique. “I did.”

And by pretty part, I’m thinking about the hot guy who runs past my house every day. I can’t believe I didn’t notice him before he helped me with my gutters.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I slip it out to peek at the screen. “I’m sorry. I have to take this. It’s my son.”

He looks at the house before looking back at me. “Does he need a ride home from somewhere? My sisters drove our mom nuts with chauffeur duty when they were teenagers.”

I tilt my head before I shake it. “My boys are in their twenties.” I slide my finger across the screen. “Give me a moment, please.”

I put the phone to my chest as I shift the mail in my other arm.

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