Page 21 of That Birthday in Barbados
“Yeah. And been miserable. This seems like a better choice,” he says, waving a hand at the pink chair-lined beach still in sight.
“I can’t deny that. And besides, forty is a crossroads. Kinda wanted to look at that by myself.”
“How you figure?” he asks, leaning back and folding his arms across his life vest to give me a long assessment.
“For all the obvious reasons.”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” I say, laughing lightly. “Right before I headed for the beach.”
“If you’re what forty looks like, no need to be worrying about a crossroads.”
“Easy for you to say. What are you? Twenty-one?”
“Now would I have had time to crack a career on Wall Street if that were the case?”
“I guess not. Doesn’t mean you don’t look it.”
“Thirty-one,” he says. “Glad to hear my fitness regimen is working.”
I raise an eyebrow in surprise. “I’ll say.”
He leans back. “Why, ma’am, are you flirting with me?”
“Hah! I was just thinking I’d need to do some research before trying that particular move out.”
“So you werethinkingabout flirting with me?” He pulls his phone out of the compartment beneath the steering wheel, taps the screen, starts typing. “How to flirt with a younger man.”
I smack his life jacket. “Stop!”
He holds the phone out of my reach. “Let’s see. 14,700,000 results. Quite the popular topic we’ve stumbled into.”
“Put that away,” I say, smiling in spite of myself. “And quit flattering yourself.”
He slips the phone back in the storage compartment, levels me with another steamy stare. “I would be flattered.”
“Okay. You need to quit. Besides flattery isn’t good for you. It gives you a big-”
“Ego?” he interrupts me, and we both laugh until I’m pretty sure I could have appendicitis judging by the pain in my side.
“Seriously, stop!” I say, holding up a hand. “Really. Or I’m going to have to swim back.”
“You won’t be there in time for dinner,” he teases.
“So that’s a bad idea,” I admit.
“All flirting aside, is it all right if I show you something?”
“Ah, sure,” I say, wondering what it could be.
“Okay,” he says, standing on one leg to swing around and face forward again. He starts the Sea-Doo and hits the gas so hard that it lifts and dips to the left, causing me to grab onto his shoulders.
As the machine settles itself, I snatch my hand back as if I’ve touched a hot stove. I find the strap on the seat instead, anchor my fingers through.
He aims the Sea-Dootoward the hotel, and we slow and settle over the waves until we reach the no-wake zone where he idles to the rental area. “I just need to get something out of a cooler, and we’ll be on our way.”
I’m curious but decide not to ask, watching as he speaks to one of the guys obviously in charge of renting the boats and other water toys. The guy glances at me, smiles and nods. Anders walks over to the cooler sitting on the beach, opens the lid and pulls out what looks like a takeout box. Carrying it, he splashes through the water and climbs back on.
