Page 1 of Until Presley

CHAPTER

ONE

PRESLEY

As I roll over in bed and stretch, a smile comes to my face. The sun is just starting to crest along the beach and shine through my bedroom window. My team has an early launch today so we can reach our research location. Days that I get to be in the water are the best days. It’s a good thing I have a job where I can dive so much.

I check my cell phone and see a text from my stepmom asking if I’ll be back in Miami before the fall semester starts. I quickly reply, letting her know I won’t. My research will keep me here until at least October. She responds to say she just wanted to let my stepsister, Clara, know about my plans. I scoff and set my phone down. My father, stepmother, and little brother live in Australia as my dad conducts his research. Clara and I each have our own lives and places in Miami. I have my own condo, while she stays at the townhouse our parents own.

“Hey, Siri, start Mom’s song.”

“Playing Mom’s song,” the thick Irish brogue echoes from the speaker and then the music starts.

The smile instantly returns to my face as I make my way to the bathroom to get ready. Katrina and the Waves sing about walking on sunshine, and I sing along, loud and carefree. My voice isn’t the best, but I don’t care.

A tanned, relaxed version of me stares back from the mirror. My blue-green eyes, the color of the ocean, shine as I continue to smile and sing. I love being on my own. I like my life here in Key West. I work at a research facility affiliated with the University of Miami, where I’m getting ready to start my second-to-last semester for my doctorate.

The song repeats, and my toothbrush becomes a microphone. Today is my mom’s birthday, and this is how I remember her, listening to her favorite song as much as I can. I set the toothbrush down and wash my face before applying heavy-duty sunblock. With as much time as I spend on the water, I have to take care of my skin. Plus, with my cool skin tone, I burn easily if I’m not careful. I pull my long, layered blond hair into a low ponytail and twist it into a bun. My bangs hang over my eyes, and I realize it’s time to get them trimmed soon.

I dance back into the bedroom and slip on my bikini bottoms and top. Next, I throw on a pair of shredded denim shorts that barely cover my ass cheeks and a green tank top. The half-shirt with lace straps pairs perfectly with my green-and-white tropical bikini. Ready, I grab my purse—something fun I bought for myself—and my backpack, then head to the fridge for a protein shake.

As I lock up the house, the song continues to play in my mind. Mom used to play it on repeat, and we’d dance to it together around our little apartment. She always said everyone needed a dance day to relieve the stress of life. I try to do that now, but with how busy I am, it only seems to happen on herbirthday. After she died, I had a hard time listening to it, but not anymore. Now, it brings a smile to my face.

I slide into my pearl-colored Beetle, a graduation gift from my dad to celebrate my master’s degree, and crank the song again as I wait for the top to come down. Glancing at the clock, I realize I’ll be a little earlier than the professor for our meeting at the marina, but I don’t mind. I can take my time and enjoy the sunrise over the bridges as I head into Old Key West.

Living in Key West on my own has been the best thing for me. I love my family and miss my little brother, but I feel good, just like the song says. My father has always been more focused on his research than on me, but at least I got to grow up traveling the world. After my mother died, we visited so many exotic places. You’d think things would have changed after he met my stepmother, but they didn’t. She’s a research scientist too. She studies underwater plants, while my father focuses on whales and protecting them.

It was a no-brainer for me to follow in his footsteps and study marine biology, though I’m fascinated by sharks. My little brother is showing signs of following the same path. My stepsister, Clara, is the only one who doesn’t like to be in the water. She’s more concerned about what to wear to the beach. She still hasn’t decided what she wants to focus on, and our parents are getting upset. She’s been in college for eight years and keeps changing her major. I think she just wants to keep partying.

I have a year and a half left until I earn my doctorate. I want to push myself to finish sooner, but my advisor suggested I take my time and work with the research team. He said I’ll learn more and enjoy myself in the process. I’ve worked hard for this. All the late nights of studying. Spring breaks missed to stay at the top of my class. Summers spent in classes instead of lounging by the pool like my stepsister. All of it will finally pay off. Soon, I’ll beable to lead my own research teams, and I’m hoping to land a position at one of the shark conservation centers.

As I cross the Boca Chica Channel Bridge, I gaze out over the water, the sun shining down around me. I’m so lost in the sight of the crystal-blue water that the sound of a horn honking jolts me back to reality. I glance up and realize I’ve drifted into the next lane. I throw my hand up, waving my fingers in apology. A lifted black Jeep pulls up alongside me. The windows are so darkly tinted I can’t see inside, but I can feel the driver’s gaze on me. I turn and blow a kiss before speeding up to put some distance between us. I switch the song, and the beat of a French tune pulses through the speakers, pulling me back into my own world.

The highway leads into the heart of Key West, skirting the city center. I follow along, my gaze shifting to the rearview mirror when I come to a stop at a light. All I see is a black grill bearing down on me. I worry I might have pissed off the driver when I cut them off. When the light turns green, I take off, forgetting the laid-back, calm vibe of island life. I speed through the next light as it turns yellow and watch in my mirror as the Jeep comes to a stop.

I relax and replay the French song as I pass the marina lined with charter fishing boats. A guy waves at me, and I wave back as I continue down the now two-lane streets. I reach the public parking lot closest to the marina and park my car. I wait and watch as my roof closes.

I turn off the car and open the door, stepping out in my green Converse. As I bend back into the car to grab my bags, I feel someone standing there. I jerk upright so fast I hit my head on the roof and let out a cry. My hand goes to the top of my head as a deep chuckle rumbles above me.

I glance down to see a pair of black Converse. My eyes slowly drift up his body. His deeply tanned legs tell me he spendsa lot of time in the sun, but he also has a dark complexion. Tattoos spiral around his muscles in black ink. When I reach his tan denim shorts, I pause on his package for a moment before moving my gaze higher. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that stretches tightly over his massive chest. I lick my lips and pull my top lip between my teeth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hand come toward me. I don’t flinch when his soft, long fingers touch my chin. He lifts my gaze to meet his, and I swallow hard. I should be scared, but for some reason I’m not. I’m usually awkward around hot guys, but this man makes me feel calm.

A thick, trimmed beard and mustache frame his face, and his full lips are tipped up in a smile, straight white teeth flashing at me. His dark hair is wavy and long on top, trimmed close on the sides. A curl falls over his forehead as the wind from the ocean blows past us.

“Little girl, you don’t blow kisses to strangers.” His voice is deep and sexy. I shiver, and before I can react, he wraps a hand around my waist and pulls me toward him. “How old are you?” he asks.

I shake my head as I try to step back. The thought that he’s the driver of the Jeep flashes through my mind, and I realize I’m in a vulnerable position.

He maneuvers us so that my back is against my car and he’s close enough to press me into it if he wanted. But still, I don’t panic. Instead, I’m curious what his beard would feel like against my skin if he kissed me.

I lick my lips, wishing I could see his eyes, but he’s wearing shiny Aviator sunglasses. I need to regain control before I make a fool of myself. I know I’m pretty, but I’m not a stunning beauty like my stepsister. He’s not interested in me. He can’t be. Can he? The thought spins in my head as I argue with myself.

“Parles-tu français?”he asks in French, and I realize my phone is playing the song again.

“Oui,” I respond.

“Tell me, little girl, do you blow kisses to everyone you cut off?” he asks in perfect French, and I can’t help it as my lips tip up in a smile.

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