Goodbye to You (7 page)

“I’ll be right back.” My eyelids flutter closed as he kisses my cheek before ducking below deck.

While he’s gone, I glance around at the other scantily-clad women on the boat. Some with small boobs, others average, and a few like me.

With a rack that travels into the next zip code five minutes before the rest of my body follows.

While this trip is supposed to take my mind off the journey that started last winter, the exposure to breasts every day wears on my psyche. I wonder how many women thought I was flirting with them because I kept staring at their chests.

I’m cataloging the images so I can decide on a size and shape when I consult with the plastic surgeon.

A few minutes later, Shay emerges from below, and I’m not embarrassed to admit I need to pick my jaw up from the deck. While he’s wearing long board shorts, he’s shirtless. My instincts were right.

The man has a killer bod.

Broad, well-muscled shoulders, but not too wide. I could discern that through his clothes.

His corded biceps flex as he pushes himself on the railing of the steps, and I swallow.

Good-googa-mooga.

His wide shoulders taper into a narrow waist. I’m not sure if it’s a six-pack or eight. I’ll count later when he’s closer. Whatever the tally, I’m positive I’ll be able to bounce a quarter off his abs.

I won’t waste time doing that, though, with other more enjoyable activities I could do with a naked Shay.

I take a sip of beer and pull out my camera, pretending to take pictures of the sea and sky.

Shay strays into a few of the shots. Accidentally, of course. The photos could go a long way in keeping a girl warm on a cold Carolina night in January.

Ed calls out, “Who’s snorkeling today?” I snap out of my daydream and pay attention as much as I can with the distraction of Shay one thin garment shy of naked.

I went snorkeling once at Discovery Cove in Orlando ten years ago, so a refresher will help.

“Ladies and gents, please put any belongings you want to keep safe in the locker right here.” He points at Shay. “Please turn your attention to this strapping lad. Handsome boy, right?”

A woman at the end of the bench, who appears to be in her mid-thirties, whistles and calls out, “You got that right!”

She’s one of the ladies with a chest as large as mine.

I’d never wanted to punch anyone ever until today. This is crazy.

Ed laughs and says, “Must take after his father. That would be me!” His joking elicits hearty laughter from the passengers. “I’ll turn it over to him. Son.”

“For those of you who’ve never been snorkeling, the basics: these are the fins, this is the mask, and this is the snorkel.” Shay holds up each one to demonstrate.

“Fins are based on your shoe size, so get the right one.”

“Yours are big. Is it true about guys with enormous feet?”

Grrrr.

The obnoxious woman is making me see red.

Shay laughs but doesn’t respond. “To keep the mask from fogging, you’ll need to do something kinda gross. When you’re out in the water and ready to go under, do this.”

He pretends to spit into his mask and rub the spit on the lens.

He slips on the mask and snorkel.

Ed continues, “Ye mostly want to keep the snorkel above the water line. But if ye do go under, don’t breathe in, or ye’ll get a mouthful of seawater. Or whatever else the folks I brought out earlier left behind.”

The collective response from the passengers varies from “ewwwwww” to knowing laughs, because everyone here has likely peed in the ocean before, or worse.

“Okay everyone, gather round and gear up.” Shay slips his mask off and helps the passengers get their masks and air tubes set.

A particular person requires loads of attention. The whistler.

Ugh.

Once she finishes rubbing herself on Shay at every possible opportunity while he helps her, I saunter to him and bat my eyelashes, rubbing his shoulders. “Excuse me, hot young man. I can’t get this strappy-thingy on my mask adjusted. Can you pleeeeaaase help me?” I coo.

One side of his mouth pulls up in a half-smile.

“Huh. That’s what I need in my life, another smart-mouth. A family full of ‘em isn’t enough.” He snatches my mask in mock anger, and I continue to flutter my eyelashes and giggle as I throw my head back.

Shay’s checking me out again, and his eyes keep returning to my torso.

He blinks as though in awe.

They are impressive. His is a natural response.

Like last night, I pull my shoulders back to make my boobs stand out more, and sweat beads his forehead and upper lip.

I let him look his fill. Once he finishes, he grabs the underwater camera to take with us because I forgot my waterproof camera case.

We gear up and descend the ladder into the warm, blue-green waters.

We glide through the water, and I marvel at the array of colorful life under the surface. Schools of yellow and blue fish dart around as we swim above the purple and yellow coral. My heart races when a sea turtle paddles by me.

Then I spy something I can never unsee.

One of the other couples is hanging on floats a considerable distance from the boat. The man’s swim trunks are yanked to his knees, revealing a hairy backside. His girlfriend’s arm moves back and forth. Ha. Is that what Ed meant when he mentioned what other passengers leave behind in the water? Ewww.

I tap Shay and point. His eyes widen behind his mask, and he reverses course, diverting us from the peepshow.

At least no one can accuse us of being voyeurs.

We swim back to the boat, dropping the used gear into a large plastic bin. I go to grab one of the provided towels, but Shay extends his hand and leads me back to the water after grabbing two pool floats. We lie on our stomachs and paddle out in the opposite direction of the “hand job” couple.

He points to the horizon. Nothing but sky and water. “When things get crazy, coming here is a potent reminder of how everything doesn’t center around me. That I’m a small part of an immense world.”

“When things get crazy. I know about that.”

I know crazy well. Crazy has been and will be a part of my life for the foreseeable future.

“Tell me.” He turns his head, and his eyes are heavy with concern, his tone is genuine.

“I’m . . .” The secret of my surgery is hanging right on the tip of my tongue. I fling the bitter words to the back of my mouth and swallow them.

He pulls his float closer to mine. His fingers circle my wrist, his grip firm but reassuring. The sweet friction ties me in knots, but in more than a lustful way.

“You can tell me anything.”

I believe him.

Still, I withhold the truth. I’m leaving in a few days and will never see him again. What harm could come of telling a near-stranger about my life- and body-altering surgical procedure?

Would he be so disgusted by my imminent “self-mutilation” he wouldn’t see me as a whole woman anymore?

I want to be whole and normal for a few more days before I get poked, squeezed, and prodded by a team of dispassionate medical professionals.

For now, I want the poking and squeezing to be as passionate as possible.

“My sister . . . she’s been sick, and I’ve been helping to take care of her and her kids. I love them, but being a caregiver—it’s draining.” A partial truth of what’s been weighing on my mind.

He releases my wrist, and I run fingers along the solid length of his forearm. He flinches faintly as I trace the puckered skin near his elbow.

“What’s this from?” It’s an innocuous question, at least it’s meant to be. Instead of answering right away, he tenses and pauses.

Then he jumps off his float and grabs me from mine. “Shark bite!”

I calm my flailing limbs and lock my legs around his waist before he plunges us into the water. I surface, sputtering, then frown.

“Those things are everywhere out here.”

I’m sure he’s lying, but he’s smiling again, so I let it go and concentrate on the sensation of his flesh against mine.

My hands drift to his arms and shoulders, caressing the taut muscles under the hot surface of his skin. His ever-present scent—salt and coconut-scented sunblock—is enhanced by the scorching afternoon sun. I don’t need another drop of alcohol for the rest of my vacation.

I could get drunk from inhaling him.

His large hands cup my butt, holding me up, and strong fingers knead at my sensitive flesh as he stands on his toes in the shallows.

My lips are a whisper away, and he breathes in my moan before I close my eyes and lower my head.

A shower of fireworks goes off behind my eyelids.

Shay answers my groan with his own, and he weaves his hands into my hair. My scalp tingles as he pulls me deeper into his kiss. I wind my arms around his back, slipping a few fingers into the waistband of his trunks. My fingers explore the hard planes of muscle under his scorching skin where his back meets his firm backside.

Shay tears his lips from mine, and a sense of loss sweeps over me until he traces hot kisses across my cheek, my ear, and along my neck.

He reclaims my mouth again in a searching kiss.

I whimper, my heart thudding, threatening to explode from the confines of my chest. This is madness, but it doesn’t stop me from returning his kiss with equal ferocity. His breath is bitter and tangy and oh, so sweet. I can’t get enough of his delicious mouth.

I want more. My hands take on a life of their own, moving from his back to his arms to his hard chest with a desperate, grasping yearning.

He wants me. His erection presses against me, and with the slightest movement, I could orgasm right here.

I want him with a ferocity I’ve never known. My body’s been touched plenty.

But no man’s ever touched my heart.

Until Shay.

I am so fucked.

A bell sounds from the boat, smothering the electrical current sparking between us.

The signal to return. Time to head back to shore.

I’m sad, but grateful. More time and he could have convinced me to slip off my suit and get it on in the water.

This man is too hot for his own good—and mine.

I regret I have to go with Bennie tonight and that we won’t be back until late.

I’m all for supporting a friend and showing her love, but I’ve got an itch for a beautiful Irish boy that needs to be scratched.

Hard.