Casanova Cowboy (A Morgan Mallory Story) (18 page)

I
thought about our friendship. Mathew and I had been friends, were still friends. Ryan and I had stayed friends, after our one night together. Maybe that was a boundary I didn’t recognize. Maybe friends meant something else. Max and I dated for years, and I never really viewed him as my friend, my boyfriend, but not my friend. It was odd to think about it in that way. Max always looked out for number one: himself. Friends looked out for each other.

Ryan sucke
d in his breath and pushed my T-shirt up, a clear indication he was open to my suggestion. I wiggled out of it, stripped off my panties, and pressed my naked body into his. He pulled my face to his and kissed me passionately. My hands wandered down his chest, to his flat tight stomach and I could feel the longing burning within, could feel the butterflies rouse. He pressed his hardness into me and I could tell he needed the comfort of a body as much as I did.

Chapter 19

I lay in my bed the next morning, staring at the ceiling. We’d crossed the friend boundary again. Over the next few weeks, while I helped him look for an apartment, we didn’t talk about that night. I wasn’t sure if he was reluctant or I was, but either way I was okay with letting it go. Ryan was not the type I was usually attracted to. He was handsome enough for sure, but he was also reserved. He came from a small town background. He was kind and caring, not a boy’s boy. I historically was attracted to the bad boys, or the boy’s boy, and this still seemed to be what I went after. Mathew was the bad boy, and Max the boy’s boy; both finding more entertainment in others’ company than mine.

When Ryan found an apartment and
moved out, I missed his presence, Mom even more so.

             
“I miss him being around,” she said one afternoon as we sat out back, another beautiful Southern California day.

             
“Mom, he’s still around. He just has his own place,” I said.

             
She tapped out a cigarette from her Virginia Slims pack, lit it and took a drag. She sat back her head angled as if she was thinking.

             
“Why don’t the two of you go out?” she asked.

“We do
,” I said, knowing it wasn’t what she meant.

“I mean
date
,” she said.

“I know
what you mean, I was avoiding you,” I said.

She kne
w about our night in Park City, but she didn’t know about the night under her roof. I didn’t tell her because I knew she wouldn’t understand why I could have sex with him, but not date him. I knew I couldn’t explain it to her.

Once
Ryan moved out, we saw each other a lot less. We were both busy, and we were no longer running into each other while we brushed our teeth. Most of my friends were his friends, so when I did see him it was usually at some social event. Karen and he had gotten past their time together and had remained friends.

Ryan
told me about his dates; some of the girls I knew, some I didn’t. We talked freely with each other when we were together. I started dating a yacht captain I met while cocktail waitressing at The Chart House. He was from New Zealand: tall, blond, and buff—another boy’s boy. It started with him coming in with his mates, and I waited on them. Over time, he seemed to show up during more and more of my shifts, taking a seat at the bar, and hanging out. He asked me one Saturday night to come back with him to see the yacht he captained.

“Blake
, this is amazing,” I said again as he moved on to show me the movie theater on the boat. “It even has its own popcorn machine.”

             
I had never been on a yacht, and this one was nicer than most people’s homes! The boat had four staterooms with their own suites—sitting rooms and full baths. It had a large galley kitchen with staff. The living room was massive and plush as was the outdoor sitting area and bar. It had a speedboat and Jet Skis that were stored on the upper deck and lowered to the water by an onboard hoist. It had a helicopter pad. It was hard to imagine people with money like this. I just stood there, taking in all the details of the room.

“
Wine?” Blake asked as he moved toward the bar in the living area.

The cabinetry below was stunning, a wine refrigerator built into them
, a small copper sink was in the granite counter top with shiny teak-framed mirrors along the back wall

“Where are the owner
s? I mean, is this okay?” I asked apprehensively.

             
“Of course it’s okay, I’m the captain,” he said, smiling as he pulled out a bottle of red wine, opened it, and got two glasses from the overhead rack.

“I assume a
cabernet is fine?” he said.

He came to me, handing me a glass as he leaned in and kissed me. His lips were soft and it was pleasant, but the butterflies stayed hidden within me.

“Come on
, let’s sit outside.”

He took my hand
, and I followed him onto the deck and sat next to him on one of the blue-and-white striped couches. They may have been canvas, but the couch was surprisingly soft. I liked the bright yellow and red pillows strewn on them.

“What a beautiful night
,” I sighed, leaning into him.

             
“With a beautiful girl,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulder, kissing me again.

             
Blake was smooth. He always said and did the right things. The things a girl wanted, I’d watched him with dates he’d brought into the restaurant. I had my doubts about his sincerity, especially since Luke, one of the bartenders at The Chart House, had given me a heads-up about him.

             
“So, who are the owners? I feel like I’m intruding in someone else’s space,” I said adjusting myself against his shoulder.

             
“Stop worrying. He’s a rich businessman from New Orleans. I’ll be leaving in two weeks to take the boat to meet him and his family in the Bahamas. They love San Diego so their slip is here, but I take the yacht wherever he tells me. They’re like family. When they’re on the boat, I live in the crew quarters. When they aren’t, he’s told me to enjoy it, so I do,” Blake said with a grin.

I relaxed
, knowing the owners were not close by and simply enjoyed the stories Blake told me about being a captain. How he’d gotten into it in New Zealand and had ended up in the States. He’d captained this boat for several years now.

I was sipping my wine slowly because I still had to drive home.
When Blake went to pour himself another glass, he tried to fill mine.

“Blake
, I shouldn’t,” I said, putting my hand over my glass.

             
“Yes, you should,” he said, taking my hand and moving it.

             
He held my hand as he poured more wine.

             
“I have to drive,” I protested.

             
“You can stay here for the night, with me, or alone in one of the staterooms. It’s up to you,” he said.

             
I loved his accent, how the words just rolled off his tongue sounding foreign and sexy.

             
“You probably say that to all the girls,” I teased.

             
He smiled. The player reputation had been pinned on him, and I knew it. He knew I knew it too. I could see how he could easily impress a woman with the boat, the accent, the looks, and his charm. More than a couple waitresses around Shelter Island had earned a notch on his bedpost. I wasn’t going to be one of them.

“Have y
ou ever been serious about a girl?” I asked idly, imagining that he was much like Mathew, serious until the next one came along.

             
“Serious, like how serious?” Blake asked.

             
“In love? Like you thought she was the one, or could be the one,” I said sitting up straighter looking at him.

There was a little gleam in his
eyes and he smiled, like what I’d asked amused him.

             
“I was married once, does that count?” he asked.

             
“You were married?” I asked, my jaw dropping. “When?”

             
“When I was twenty-one.”

             
He picked his glass up off the bamboo table and took a sip.

“How old are you now?”

Again he got a look of pleasure. Maybe other girls hadn’t asked him about his past, or love in particular.

“Twenty
-eight. I got married for the wrong reason, though. I tried to convince myself I was in love; she tried to convince me I was in love. But I really think it was for the citizenship. I guess that was always in the back of my mind; I wanted to stay in the States. I was selfish, and I let her talk me into it. She wanted it to be love. It didn’t even last a year, but I’m still married. We’ve never officially filed the divorce papers,” Blake said.

I smiled.
Holy shit, the tangled webs we weave.

“Do you see her?”
I asked.

             
“No, haven’t in years. She knows where to find me. If she wants to file the papers, I’ll sign them. Until I need a reason to get it done, there’s no hurry,” he said.

             
He was so matter-of-fact about it that it didn’t seem strange. I wondered if she was still in love with him, why she hadn’t pushed for a divorce. It had taken years, but I understood now that relationships came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Liz and I recently had that conversation about how weird relationships were when she finally ended it with Dave. Since then, we’d been hanging out together: no boys. We had decided to have fun and not worry about being traditional, no looking for love.

“What are you thinking?” he asked
, pulling me back from my thoughts.

             
I looked into his face, my eyes roaming over his features: those hazel eyes with a thin gold band at the edge, his chiseled jawline. He had a cleft in his chin, a small indent in the middle—sexy dimples that appeared when he smiled. His dark blond hair was short and neat with streaks of a lighter blond in it from the sun—the
captain
look. I understood women being completely taken in by him. I knew if I were in a different state of mind, I could be completely taken in.

“Thinking about relationships
,” I said with a sly grin.

             
“Does what I said make a difference to you?” he asked.

             
“No,” I said. “Not in the least.”

             
He pondered this a moment and then pulled me back into his arms.

             
“So where are you sleeping?” he asked.

             
“I’ll sleep with you, as long as you promise to sleep,” I said.

             
He smiled, and I knew he thought he would change my mind. We sat out on the deck until we finished the bottle of wine, and then he led me to the master stateroom.

             
“Do you have a T-shirt I can sleep in?” I asked.

I was still in my cocktail waitress dress.

              “You are going to make me suffer, aren’t you?” he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

             
“Blake, I don’t want to make you suffer. I can sleep in another room. Otherwise, if you would like someone to sleep next to you and cuddle, I’m up for that,” I said, pinching his chin, smiling.

“I’ll get you a
T-shirt,” he said, disappointed.

             
He pulled a T-shirt out of the dresser and handed it to me. I went into the bathroom to change. The bathroom was so beautiful it was hard to tell I was on a boat. A regular toilet and shower, no smelly head like most of the boats I’d been on. Blake was in the bed when I came out, his bare chest showing, his arms relaxed behind his head.

             
“I didn’t think I would find a T-shirt sexy, but I do,” he said, pulling back the covers for me.

             
I crawled in next to him. The sheets felt like satin as I ran my hand across them.

“Nice sheets,” I said
.

“Um, soft anyway.”

He took me in his arms and kissed me slowly, opening his lips slightly, teasing playfully with his tongue. He smelled and tasted good. I let him explore my body some while we rolled in the sheets. When he moved his hand under my panties, I gently pulled his hand up.

“Blake
,” I said, a warning note in my voice.

He didn’t try again
, and I respected the fact that he hadn’t pushed for more. He woke me the next morning with coffee and orange juice, which we took upstairs out to the deck. We sat in white whicker chairs with puffy yellow cushions out by the stern.

“This coffee is delicious,” I said.

“Well, a good view always helps things taste better,” Blake, said.

“Yes, not too shabby
,” I said with a smile.

The marina didn’t have many people moving around
it yet, boats rocked side to side gently in their slips. The only sounds were the rigging on nearby sailboats clanging softly, like wind chimes and the water lapping at the hulls.

We finished our coffee
, enjoying the morning. He offered me a shower, but since I would have to put my work dress back on, I declined. I would shower at home.

             
“Can I see you again?” Blake asked.

             
I was pleasantly surprised. I thought maybe having said
no
to him, he wouldn’t be interested in pursuing me.

             
“Why not, last night was fun,” I agreed.