Page 43 of The All-Inclusive

“Was he a good dad?” Trent asks.

The question throws me for a loop. “How do you mean?”

“Like, did he hit your mom or yell at you a lot?”

That’sthe measure of a good dad?

“No, none of those things.” Something tells me Trent James is lugging a whole heaping mess of parental baggage. “He was a great guy, as far as I’ve heard. My mom remarried when I was five, so I was mostly raised by her and my stepfather.”

Sara looks nervous, but I’m getting the sense it’s on Trent’s behalf. “Was your stepfather an okay guy?”

“The best.” I smile when her leg relaxes in my hands. “I’ve always thought of Jimmy as my dad. He taught me to bake and how to throw a football. How to drive, how to treat women and kids with kindness.”

Trent’s looking at me like these are foreign paternal concepts. “Sara’s dad is kinda like that. I mean, not the football—Sara just has sisters.”

She huffs out a breath. “And I can throw a football with the best of them.” She smiles so we know she’s not pissed. “Momtaught me, thank you very much. Daddy did teach me to fish, though.”

Trent chuckles and the tension splits open again. “My mom’s been more of my primary parent. Believe me, that’s a good thing.”

“Yeah?” I don’t want to push, but he brought it up. “Dad’s not around much?”

“Thank God, no.” Trent looks down at Sara’s foot in his lap. “The best thing my father ever did for my mother and me was remove himself from the equation.” He winces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean he’s dead. That was insensitive.”

“It’s okay.”

“Trent’s dad is a missile tech on a Navy sub,” Sara explains. “He’s not around much.”

“I see.” And I’m getting the sense we’re back on touchy ground. “Guess the military serves as a surrogate family for a lot of us, huh?”

Trent looks relieved as he snatches the subject change I’ve offered. “The other spec ops guys are as much my family as anyone I’m related to by blood.”

“I hear ya. Felt the same about my team when I was still with the Marines.”

“Do you miss it?” Sara asks.

“Nah.” I try not to dwell on the injury that ended my career. “I miss the camaraderie sometimes. The sense of belonging to something important, you know?”

“Yes,” Trent says quickly. “I do.”

Sara nods like she gets that, too. “Does your work here feel meaningful?”

“Absolutely.” Now she’s got me on my favorite soapbox. “Most women who come here are dealing with demons from relationships gone wrong. It’s my job to make them feel good about themselves.”

Her cheeks turn faintly pink. “And just feel good, period?”

“That’s part of it, sure.” I chuckle. “I won’t lie—sleeping with beautiful, eager women is amazing. But what I really love is helping guests rediscover their sense of fun. Or discover it for the first time, in some cases.” I deliberately don’t look at Sara when I say this. “If a guest leaves here with a few toe-curling orgasms under her belt, that’s great—I’ve done my job. But if they leave here with the orgasms and also the understanding that sex is a biological miracle filled with pleasure and self-discovery and joy and exhilarating physical sensation—if I send women home withthatin their carry-on suitcase, then I’ve done my job well.” I can’t help giving them a cocky grin. “Reallywell.”

Trent chuckles. “I feel like I should applaud or something.”

“Same.” Sara smiles. “Do you see yourself still doing this in a few years, or do you want to get married, buy a house, raise a family—all the good stuff like that?”

Trent flinches almost imperceptibly. I try not to look at him as I answer her question. “Eventually, sure.” For Trent’s sake, I choose not to dwell on thatgood stuffremark. “For now though, I get that sense of family and community right here.”

“How so?” she asks.

“The consorts are a pretty tight bunch,” I explain. “You haven’t met Kora and Sybil yet?—”

“I met Kora,” Sara says. “She seemed sweet, but a little uptight.”

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