Goodbye to You (3 page)

“No hurry, I guess.” I sag against the wall and drop my head.

He slips a finger under my chin and turns my face upward to his. In the filtered moonlight, his face is even more chiseled, shadowed with a hint of mystery.

“I don’t want to . . .” He tips his head at the street littered with noisy passersby. “Not here. Not like this.”

Oh. My face breaks into a wide grin. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

“Are you visiting, or do you live here?”

“Visiting. Less than a week left.”

Let’s get on with it already.

“Have you visited much of the island? Or the surrounding area?”

I shrug. “Not much. My friends are more the ‘relax by the pool’ types, but I plan to get out more the next few days.”

“I want to show you something you won’t find on any other tour.”

He pulls me away from the wall, twining his fingers in mine as we walk east on Front Street and make a right on another street. The street name painted on the telephone pole reads “Simonton.” I recognize the tan stucco building with forest green awnings and trim. The girls and I had gotten lost coming out of Sloppy Joe’s our second night here. We each insisted, in our less than sober states that our condo was in three different directions. This—the wrong way—was my idea.

He strokes his thumb across the sensitive skin of my palm. The sensation is more arousing than when his fingers brushed across my exposed cleavage. I thought I wanted sex tonight, but being close to him this way is a thousand times more intimate.

We approach a marina. It’s a clear night with a few stray clouds, and the moon glows overhead.

Glossy white boats line up in neat rows, water sloshing around them. He climbs aboard one of the smaller ones with the name
Scamp
emblazoned on the back.

“Is . . . is this your boat?”

His bright smile shines in the moonlight, melting my knees. “No. Sort of.”

“No?” I stop in my tracks, my flip-flops skidding on the wooden pier. “Won’t we get in trouble if someone notices the boat is gone?”

“If Da calls the police. These boats belong to my family’s business.”

“Oh. Da?”

“Yeah, my dad. We’re Irish, so I’ve called him Da since I could talk.”

“Right. Your uncle has a distinct accent. How come you don’t?”

He climbs on the boat and holds his hand out. I accept his help, holding my swishy skirts in the other hand.

“We came here from Ireland when I was six. I guess my accent’s dulled through the years. What about yours?”

“What accent?” Though I protest, I admit to myself my drawl intensifies after a couple drinks. Shay’s eyes crinkle, and I secede to his inquiry. “I’m from a tiny town in Georgia, like my mama.”

“Ah, a couple states from where I’m going to medical school in the fall.”

“Where’s that?”

“North Carolina.”

“Hmmm.” Do I tell him I live in North Carolina now? I decide no. If I do, then he gets the wrong impression: “
Hey, I live in Newbridge. We should get together once you move.”
This thing with us, though, whatever happens, stays in Florida. Between Jen’s recovery and my surgery, there’s too much going on to take any complications home.

I sit on the vinyl-covered padded bench and text Leesh.

Me: Headed out on a boat. He’s the bar owner’s nephew. Getting good vibes. Tell B I may get lucky tonight after all. :)

And a minute later:

Leesh: Told Paddy if anything happens to you we’re calling the cops on him. Have fun and be safe. Don’t forget the condoms in your purse. Oh, and the mace.

No doubt they informed Paddy that Bennie’s local cousins are huge, terrifying men.

Shay unties the boat, the muscles in his arms and wide shoulders flexing with each move.

The buzz from the shots is wearing off, but an odd sense of exhilaration still envelops me, like I’m drunk on the possibilities this night has presented.

His hair had looked neat at the bar, but it loosens in the sultry late-July air and hangs over his forehead. If he weren't maneuvering the boat around the other craft on the pier, I’d stand and brush the stray lock to the side.

“Life jackets are under the seat. Put one on and toss me one.”

I do as instructed. “You know, that doesn’t inspire confidence in your abilities as a boat captain.”

“Hilarious. Boats are similar to cars. You may be a skilled driver, but you’ve still got to protect yourself from things beyond your control. I still want airbags in my car even though I’ve never been in an accident.”

“Point taken.” Which brings up another issue. “Should you be driving this thing? I mean, how much did you drink?”

“I nursed one beer slowly, seeing how I was distracted by
someone
.” He laughs, and my face grows warm, my belly tingling again. “Then I had a few sips of a second beer and the B-52. Less to drink than you, and I’m bigger.”

In such a good way.
His shirt stretches across his wide shoulders, giving way to a tapered waist and long, solid legs.

“I’m fine. Better than fine.” He winks at me. My insides melt.

“Where are you taking me?” I should be concerned, but something is so right about this, about him. Nothing’s going to happen to me.

Not true. I’m sure
something
is going to happen to me, but in an “oh my God!” good way.

“Where are you taking me?” I repeat.

The engine whirs louder as the boat crawls through the black water.

Water sprays up, dampening my face and hair. My curls spring to life, transforming into tight corkscrews that had, along with my crazy costumes, inspired my mother to nickname me “Gypsy” after her favorite song. I listen to Fleetwood Mac whenever I miss Mama or need her advice. I often find the answers I need in their complex lyrics, sensing Mama played a certain song to help me.

“It’s a surprise. And one that few tourists see since the island nightlife is a huge draw for visitors.”

I laugh since
I
was
one of those tourists at a bar less than an hour ago. “I hate surprises. Tell me.”

“Nope. You must witness this for yourself.” He cuts the engine, and we drift into a cove. He tosses a blanket on the floor, flips off the spotlight, and kills the navigation equipment before sitting and patting the blanket, inviting me to join him.

I smother the urge to dart into his lap as I slide off the seat and walk the couple steps to where he is. I pull off my vest and sit next to him, my shoulder brushing the fabric of his shirt as I close the gap between us. He slings his arm around me, his warm fingers eliciting contradictory shivers across my skin, and I breathe in his warm, salty scent.

“Look up.”

I comply, and the view above steals the air from my lungs.

From our vantage point in the darkened cove, the constellations glow, painting a picture of the ancient gods against an inky background.

I wish I remembered the names of the constellations. I recognize a few but can’t think of their names.

“Wow. Magnificent.” A pale light streaks across the indigo sky, and I make a wish. A few wishes.

“It is dazzling. Da first brought me out here when I was eight and showed an interest in science. He says reading stuff in books is fine, but better to experience it. This niche is perfect for stargazing. No light pollution to dim the view.”

“What’s this one?” I point to a shape of twinkling stars on the right.

Shay extends his arm and takes my hand in his, my fingers burning at the contact. Our hands move together, drawing out a rough Y-shape. “Perseus. A couple stars from his princess, Andromeda, are visible, and to the northwest is her mother, Cassiopeia. Do you know the story?”

Yes. I remember my mythology. But the rich timbre of his voice makes my toes curl, and I want more. “Tell me.”

“Cassiopeia boasted how Andromeda was more beautiful than the Nereids, nymphs of the sea. This claim angered Poseidon, who demanded the princess be sacrificed to a sea monster. Perseus, flying in his winged sandals, spots Andromeda chained to a sea wall. The monster rises from the water to kill her. Perseus had earlier cut off Medusa’s head, so he pulls it out of his sack and the sea monster turns to stone and crumbles to pieces. Perseus hacks off Andromeda’s chains and returns her to her family. When Perseus asks her father, King Cepheus of Phoenicia, for Andromeda’s hand in marriage, the king approves.”

I try to concentrate on the words, but the rumble of his voice sends butterflies skittering around in my stomach. His rough thumb strokes the base of my neck, sending a jolt of electricity through my spine.

I wouldn’t protest at all if Shay kissed me, or more, but this moment, gazing at the night sky while he caresses me, takes my breath away.

I don’t want it to end.

Shay shows me a few more constellations, holding on to my hand. I’m clinging so hard to him I don’t think he could let go if he tried.

I suppress a yawn, and Shay looks at his watch. He’s one of the few people I’ve seen in recent memory wearing a watch. And he’s more clean-cut than most of the guys I’ve dated. The gleam in his eye hints at a streak of mischief I find appealing.

“Well, Cinderella, it’s way past midnight. I should get you home.” He strokes my cheek with one of his long fingers, the tender gesture making my heart swell.

I lean in, my lips parting. My breath, coming in shallow gasps, mingles with his.

My heart flips again, spinning as his lips whisper against mine.

His hand slips into my hair but doesn’t pull me deeper into the kiss. The light caress of his lips ignites a spark of desire. Heat radiates from my belly through my limbs. This kiss is even more erotic than the one in the alley.

He pulls away and kisses the tip of my nose.

“Thea, I don’t do this, you know. I don’t pick up random girls in bars. Ever.” His voice cracks on the last word.

A stray cloud darkens the moon, masking his expression, but I trust him.

“I don’t do this either. I’ve never . . .” Had sex with a total stranger. The point of this vacation is for me to relax, unwind, and give in to pure, physical pleasure.

I don’t want my last time before the mastectomy to be with a random guy. I’d prefer not do it at all. My shoulders tighten, and I straighten my spine.

I can’t do this. Not here, not like this.

The moon shines on us once more. He nods, his eyes warm and understanding.

“We can do whatever you wish, or nothing at all.” He takes my hand in his large one, the calluses on his palms scratching into my skin.

This whole night’s been a fairy tale. Intense but utterly enchanting. I want to freeze this moment. If I could get pizza delivery out here, I’d stay here for the rest of time.

My heart sinks as Shay stands and puts his vest on again. I yawn again, and he hands me my vest. “Let’s go before you turn into Sleeping Beauty on my boat. The
Scamp
is a fun ride, but not a comfortable place to sleep.”

My belly knots up, and a pang of loss settles in my chest as Shay starts the boat. The marina lights glow in the distance much too soon. Minutes later, we pull in, and he cuts the engine.

He jumps off the boat at the pier and ties off the rope. Again my gaze moves over the lean muscles of his body. I imagine running my hands across his back as we lie naked together, his muscles bunched as he . . .

“Thea? Hey, Earth to Thea.” He laughs, and I snap back my head to find his hand extended.

I take his hand, and he asks, “Which way?”

“Which way, what?”

“Where are you staying?”

“Oh, um . . .” Shit. What’s the address? “Fleming and Porter.”

“Not too far. We can walk. Let’s go.” He keeps a firm grip on my hand, and anyone still wandering the streets might get the idea Shay’s my boyfriend.

I’m fine if someone makes such an assumption.

If I was not at such a fucked-up crossroad in life, this guy is the boyfriend I would want.

But I
am
at a fucked-up crossroad, and there’s no time for boyfriends. I need to concentrate on me and my family.

It’s not time for my happily ever after, and it may never be since most guys will consider me “damaged goods.”

Shay walks me to the door of the first-floor condo. He whispers, “Meet me at Paddy’s for brunch? I’m helping Da out with a tour group in the morning, but I’ll be done at ten o’clock.”

I agree, and he leans in to press a chaste kiss to my lips.

It holds a promise of not “happily ever after,” but “happily for the next few days,” which is enough.

For now.