Page 40 of It's a Love Story

I send her a thumbs-up and close my eyes for a moment. This is going to end badly.

I follow Brian and Dan through the dunes to where the boats dot the beach. We are in a little cove that feels protected. The waves are smaller here. Brian and Dan leave their towels and phones in a mound on the beach and start pulling a catamaran into the water. Dan shows no strain on his face as he lifts his side, but the muscles in his arms flex with the effort. I am mesmerized watching this and also frozen with indecision about what to do next. I am in shorts and a tank top over my bathing suit, and if I wade in wearing my clothes, I will ride home entirely wet. If I take them off, I will be in nothing but this ridiculous bathing suit.

Dan decides for me. “Leave your clothes,” he calls over his shoulder. I wait until he’s turned back to the water and undress. I follow them into the small waves, polka dots and all. Brian is a more elegant version of the Finnegan boys. Where the rest of them are built thick with muscles, he’s leaner. He’s the sort of guy who would mount a horse in a single motion. He has the same movie-star looks, but instead of an action hero, he’d be an aristocrat working with Scotland Yard. They work silently, Dan pulling up the rudders and Brian hooking up the main sail. They each take hold of a hull from the front and pull the boat the rest of the way into the water. Once it’s deep enough, Brian pulls himself onto the boat and lowers the rudders.

Brian takes off his shirt and tosses it beside him. The physicality of these brothers is staggering. Long, tan torsos covered in rippling muscles like they’re descendants of the last of the great Irish supermodels, bred to pose in underwear on billboards. I flash back to Dan yesterday in the ocean and am glad he’s keeping his shirt on.

“Want me to lift you up?” Brian asks me with a devilish smile.

“She’s fine,” Dan says quickly. He turns to me, hip-deep in the water, and his T-shirt is wet. Just the bottom half, but it’s clinging to his stomach and I can see the outline of his muscles there. “Do you need help?” he asks. Clearly, I do.

“I’m fine,” I say and hoist myself up out of the water onto the boat. I sit across from Brian on the piece of canvas that is stretched tight between the two hulls. This feels dangerously low-tech. Dan hops on next to me and immediately takes off his wet shirt. I do not turn his way.

I am staring at the wet shirt by my feet when Brian asks if I want to sit by him and steer.

“She’s fine,” Dan says, clipped. Brian smiles at him, like this is a game.

We start moving slowly into the open ocean, and Dan hands me a life jacket. I take it from him while still watching Brian like he’s a two-year-old and I’m in charge of his safety. I can’t be held responsible for what my face might do if I turn to look at shirtless Dan. Brian catches me staring at him and smiles. I have the feeling he’s misinterpreted something.

“You’re slow, old man,” Dan says.

“Put your life jacket on, the wind’s picking up,” Brian says.

I hand Dan the life jacket that’s by his wet shirt without turning his way. I don’t let myself look at him until he’s covered up.

“Janey Jakes all grown up. On my boat,” Brian says into the wind.

“It’s all of our boat,” Dan says.

“When’s the last time you chipped in for anything to do with this thing?”

Dan doesn’t answer.

Brian shakes his head. “We have a history of fighting over women. Probably started with our mother.”

“I won that one,” Dan says. Then, to me, “I’m the clear favorite.”

Brian laughs. “Because you’re never around to piss her off.” I want to know a million more facts about their history of fighting over women, including whether there’s any validity to the fantasy I’m currently having that they’re fighting over me.

“That’s sort of gross,” I say. “Have you stolen each other’s girlfriends?”

“Not technically,” Brian says.

“Once there’s a serious interest, everyone sort of backs off,” says Dan. “No one ever even flirted with Paula—Aidan was whipped from the minute he met her.”

“Ah,” I say and bump my bare shoulder into his. I mean it to be jokey, except the feel of our sun-warmed skin touching isn’t jokey at all. “Insta-love. Your favorite.”

“Yeah, except she didn’t fall for him for a full year, so.”

“That was truly pathetic,” Brian says. “But I don’t know, Janey. Dan keeps claiming you’re not dating. Sounds like you’re fair game.”

He’s kidding and he’s not kidding. There’s so much ribbing that goes on in this family that I’m not sure where the threads of truth lie. He’s either flirting with me or trying to annoy Dan. Or both.

“I’m neither fair, nor game,” I say, and Dan laughs. He gives me a sideways smile that says a million things, and I can feel in my body how much I like making Dan laugh. It’s incongruous, really. I like making him laugh while I also want to run my hands over his chest. And the science of male-female interaction dictates that the more I make him laugh, the less he’ll want to be touched by me. If I keep making him laugh, we’ll pal around and have a million inside jokes, and then I’ll be his wingman when he wants to go talk to Jennifer who’s sitting at the bar. Jennifer is soft and speaks with an upward lilt at the end of her sentences. Jennifer thinks Dan’s funny, and she’ll be the one who gets to touch his chest. This thought makes me inexplicably annoyed, like I want to punch Dan and maybe Jennifer too. The wind picks up, and we sail parallel to Long Island. There are long stretches of waterfront homes and then a patch of trees where there’s been no development. Beyond the trees, the beach is rocky and a huge bluff looms overhead.

“That’s Queens Park Bluff,” Brian shouts over the wind.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

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