Page 93 of Fire Island
“How long until she’s ready?” I ask.
“Another few weeks, give or take.”
“Real helpful. How’s a girl supposed to plan her first bike trip without a solid deadline?”
He leans to one side, catching my gaze through the gap in the bike’s frame. “Who you road-tripping with, baby girl?”
“Hmmm, haven’t decided yet.”
I give him my cheekiest grin, and he drops the wrench and pushes to his feet. Rounding the bike, he stands, looking down at me.
I lean back, my hands pressing into the soft grass. “You could convince me to take you, I guess.”
He takes one step forward, and he’s between my legs. His body is alive from the labor of fixing the bike in the sun, grease and dirt stain his clothes, his tight T-shirt sits over his toned chest and bulging biceps. My heartbeat, which was slow and content moments ago, triples its pace. Now, it thunders through my core and lights up my body inch by inch with its needy heat.
“You want me to beg, mo ghràdh?”
“I think it’s only fair . . .”
He bends over and hauls me from the grass to his hips. My arms slide around his neck, where they belong, as he studies my face. “You want to see the world with me,please, baby girl?”
“Hmmm. I think your plea needs a little work.”
“Which part?” He raises an eyebrow. The angles of his face are addictive.
“All of it,” I breathe. “How much do you want to leave this island for me, Cal?”
His eyes tighten and I’m sure he’s going to put me down and tell me that’s never going to happen.
I wait, suspended in time just as I am in his hold as he considers my request.
It was a fleeting idea, anyhow... I open my mouth to take back the stupid words.
“How far?” he rasps.
The smile stretching my face takes me by surprise, just as those two words do. “Anywhere... Everywhere.”
“Just on the bike?”
“What are my options?” I ask breathlessly.
He looks up like he’s thinking over a long list of possibilities. “Well, there’s the bike. We could fly. Train. But my favorite would be to sail.”
“Sail?”
“Yup, wind in your sails and hair. Sunshine that melts you to your bones and all that.” The grin on his face steals my breath.
“You can sail?” I clarify.
“Uh huh.”
“You have a sailboat? Like a decent one?”
“Semi-decent?”
“Are you like the master of old things in need of restoration?”
“More like old enough to have things that need restoring. The boat is dry-docked in Em’s bay in the boatyard. We’d always dreamt of getting her seaworthy.”
