Page 47 of The Second Chance in the Mediterranean
“I like your unicorn,” I called down.
“Thanks, Marcella, but I don’t share Rodrigo.”
I mock-pouted at him.
Seb stage-whispered, “Dude, let your boss ride the unicorn.”
Harper had used a boat hook to retrieve the line. “You gonna take a turn, Marcella?”
“Do it!” Seb called.
“Marcella! Marcella! Marcella!” Roy started the chant, and soon everyone down below was in on it.
“Yes, yes, fine.” I grabbed the line from Harper and everyone cheered. The encouragement over something as simple as a little rope swing—something that didn’t really matter in life—it felt more powerful than the support for my food.Take this rope swing—you’re one of us.
“Just don’t lose your bikini top,” Bok advised. “You’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Boo,” Seb called.
I rolled my eyes at him and he stuck out his tongue.
“Okay.” I climbed up like I’d seen Seb do and looked down at the water. It wasn’t very far down, not like some jumps I’d made off other boats.“Uno, due, tre!”
I swung off the rail and out over the water. When I hit the peak, I let go and crossed my arms over my chest, weightless and free for a moment before plunging into the sea. Straight-legged, I shot down, and then hung suspended for a moment, noises muffled and distant. The water sent chills over my body and pushed me back toward the sun.
When I broke the surface, the group cheered.
“Seven points, Marcella,” Roy quipped.
“Minus two for not losing your top,” Seb chimed in.
I splashed him. “Perv.”
Seb blew a kiss at me. “Come on, there’s a two-person floaty lounger. Let’s grab it.”
We climbed aboard the tethered inflatable and drifted along. I shifted my head to look at Seb, and eyed the drops of water on his golden skin. His chest rose and fell with every breath, and the water droplets wiggled and sparkled in the sun.
His elbow nudged me. “Stop staring. You’re going to make me hard, flaquita.”
I grinned and closed my eyes, relaxing back on the headrest. The crew continued to laugh and chat around us, punctuated by the occasional splash of the rope swing. Seb and I kept our distance, but I felt every inch of the space between us.
And then I felt more than just air. One of Seb’s fingers had wandered closer and was lightly tracing the edge of my bikini bottoms.
“What are you doing?” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.
“No one can see me.” His finger slipped under the seam.
I glanced up at the deck, and yeah, maybe no one was paying attention.
“Besides, your staring was more obvious than this.”
“My staring?” I said, mock-insulted.
“Yeah, you were practically drooling, too.”
“I was not.”
“I had to wipe drool off my shoulder.”
