The Guy Next Door (16 page)

T
RUTH BE TOLD,
G
AIL DIDN’T
want to get off the moped. Ever. Driving around for the last couple of hours had not only given her a complete understanding of the layout of Key West—from its historic Old Town to the strip malls—but it had given her an excuse to plaster herself up against Jesse’s back and spread her fingers over his muscular chest and stomach. She’d never before touched a man so powerfully built. She liked it. She didn’t want it to end.

However, staying on the moped forever was impractical, and Jesse had just asked her if she was hungry. Gail had to admit she was. So Jesse swung the moped around and headed to what she figured was a restaurant on the eastern end of Duval Street. Instead, he pulled up in front of what looked like a very exclusive yacht club and turned off the bike. A beefy man in an ivory linen suit looked over the top of his sunglasses and had begun to bark at Jesse for pulling into a no-parking zone when he suddenly broke out into a wide grin.

“Jesse! Where you been, man?”

“Mook!” Jesse helped Gail off the moped and then gave the man a big hug. “It’s been a while.”

“Things going good for you these days?” Mook made the inquiry of Jesse, but his eyes had fallen on Gail.
She hoped her hair didn’t look too wild or her face too flushed.

“Couldn’t be better. This is my friend Gail.”

The three of them chatted for a bit, long enough for Gail to decide that Jesse did, in fact, know every local person on the island. As they’d tooled around town, he’d beeped and waved at what seemed like hundreds of friendly faces—guys at the marina, women who ran health food restaurants, jewelry galleries or ice cream shops. He’d stopped briefly to chat with a man at a gas station and one of the caretakers at Key West cemetery, who’d taken them on a quick tour of graves dated all the way back to the late 1700s.

Jesse had grown up here, he’d explained to her, and many of his childhood friends remained in town. He’d told her that the Conchs were a close-knit community.

“The who?” she’d asked.

Jesse had explained that anyone born here called themselves a “Conch,” and the city itself was nicknamed the “The Conch Republic,” for the large-shelled sea snails that were once plentiful in the surrounding waters.

Gail wandered away from the laughing and chatting friends, drawn to the dramatic ocean vista that lay beyond the pier. Jesse had mentioned that Key West was where the Atlantic met up with the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico. All Gail knew was that the startling blue-green sea looked smooth, clean and infinite. Seagulls and pelicans swooped through the clear sky. Dozens of tiny islands dotted the waters beyond. Gail wondered to herself what it would be like to live somewhere so outrageously beautiful.

“Shall we?” Jesse reached for her hand and Mook let them through a locked iron gate, gesturing them on.

“Enjoy your lunch,” Mook said, smiling big.

But instead of leading Gail to one of the white-linen-covered tables at the resort’s busy waterside restaurant, Jesse pulled her in the opposite direction. They walked down a long pier, boats of every description bobbing along on each side.

“Where are we going?” Suddenly, Gail felt the slightest twinge of discomfort. Was she putting herself in danger? She liked Jesse, obviously. He seemed like a great guy. And there was no question that he was sexy and gorgeous. But it sure looked to Gail as though he was about to escort her off the end of a pier.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his eyes smiling behind his sunglasses.

“No offense,” Gail said, “but I don’t know you well enough to trust you.” Immediately, she wished she’d chosen a more diplomatic answer.

Jesse only laughed. “I hear you, Professor. No offense taken. Have a seat.”

They’d reached the very edge of the dock and, obviously, there were no chairs in which to sit. Jesse gestured to the weathered wood planks beneath their feet. “Okay, why not?” Gail said, giving him a tentative smile as she lowered herself to the dock. She took off her sandals and let her bare toes dangle over the ocean.

Jesse plopped down next to her, his leg touching hers from hip to knee. Slowly, he turned his head and looked down at her.

The only sounds were the faint bustle of the yacht club’s restaurant behind them, the water licking at the pilings and the occasional screech of seabirds. The
pressure of his body against hers made her feel safe, alive. Jesse and Gail simply looked at each other, Jesse’s expression relaxed and kind, his dark hair gently fluffing in the breeze. An understanding was passing between them, Gail realized. The moment was important. It was intimate. Suddenly, the most pressing need in Gail’s world was kissing him again.

Jesse leaned in close.

“So, do you know a lot about the ocean?” No sooner had those words escaped her mouth than Gail began laughing at herself in embarrassment. A beautiful man brought her to a beautiful place to kiss her—exactly what she wanted—and she goes and asks about the marine ecosystem? She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

“I do, but mostly by osmosis,” Jesse answered, as if he saw nothing strange in her inquiry. “A lot of my family and friends have been fishermen or made their living off the ocean in some way.” Jesse brushed Gail’s cheek with his fingertips. “You seem embarrassed, but it’s not an odd question—I mean, look around. The ocean is kind of hard to ignore in these parts.”

Gail laughed. “Thanks,” she said, grateful he made her feel so at ease. She really should try to relax. She should try to just accept herself, awkwardness and all. Gail knew who she was—she was a woman who’d spent her life with her nose in a book—and, at thirty-six, a personality transplant probably wasn’t in her future. So what if she wasn’t smooth? She wasn’t used to this kind of attention, from this kind of man. There was no shame in that.

Gail took a deep breath. “Jesse…” She gazed out toward the horizon line before she turned to look him
in the eye. “You’ve probably noticed by now that I’m not much of a seductress.”

He chuckled.

“I’m a nerdy intellectual. I’m not used to hanging out with, uh, men like you.”

“Tour guides?”

Gail laughed again. “Actually, I was referring to extremely good-looking men with earrings and muscles. It’s a little nerve-racking for me. Plus, I really suck at small talk.”

“It’s not my favorite, either.”

That’s when Jesse gently bumped his shoulder against hers, a gesture of solidarity so tender it shocked Gail. Clearly, he was trying his best to let her know he understood her. She liked that. A lot. She grinned up at him.

“The truth is, I prefer to talk about things that are real and matter to me,” Jesse said, his voice a little wistful. “Protecting the ocean is certainly one of those things.”

“What are some others?”

He cocked his head thoughtfully. “My house. Giving everything I can to my work. My friends.” He glanced down at her. “Then there’s diving, sailing, good food and salsa dancing—and enjoying the company of an intelligent, funny and beautiful woman when that rare opportunity arises.”

Gail felt herself blush. She looked away.

“You’re a lot more than a nerdy intellectual, Gail.” She felt Jesse reach for her hand. Was it really only yesterday that her scowling neighbor could barely stand the idea of shaking hands? “And I’d like to hear the details—where you grew up, what you teach, what life
is like back home, oh, and, of course, how long you’ve been burdened by an unhealthy obsession with Ernest Hemingway.”

Gail laughed again, thinking to herself that Kim would love this guy. She reminded herself to call Kim that evening. Gail would probably start the conversation with
“You’re not going to believe this…”

Gail began to tell Jesse about her life. She mentioned that she was up for tenure. She talked about the long process of earning her PhD, and her students at Beaverdale College. She’d only just started on the Curtis years when she felt footsteps clomping on the dock behind them. Gail whipped her head around to see a parade of six men in white waiters’ jackets, looking as if they were about to set up camp. Two men carried a rolled-up canopy of some kind. Another guy had a rug. The others had a table, chairs and a dolly stacked with large containers.

“What in the world?”

Jesse pulled her to her feet and motioned for her to stand with him on the side of the dock, giving the entourage room to pass. Gail stood in stunned silence as a private dining room took shape before their eyes. The canopy went up first, and Gail could tell by the way its aluminum poles slipped into slots that it had been custom made for the spot. A small sisal rug was spread out and the table and chairs arranged upon it. Linens were placed on the table. Silver, glassware and plates came out of containers. A small vase of fresh flowers was placed in the middle of everything. One of the waiters opened a bottle of white wine and shoved it in ice to keep it cold.

The whole process took no more than five minutes.
Then they all smiled and headed back down the dock, leaving a single cooler next to the table.

Gail emerged from her shock soon enough to shout several thank-yous to the waiters, then looked up at Jesse. He seemed quite pleased with himself.

“Do you do this for every nerdy woman who rents the house next door?”

Jesse laughed. “Uh, no. Shall we?” He placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her to her seat. He pulled out the chair for her and took his place across the table. Jesse poured them both a glass of wine and offered a toast. “Here’s to a vacation you’ll always remember.”

H
OURS AFTER THEY’D
finished their yellowfin ceviche and green salads, and long after they’d drained the bottle of crisp pinot grigio, they were still talking. Mook probably thought they’d fallen off the dock at this point. When Jesse glanced to his right, he was surprised to see the sun low in the sky. It had been years since he’d had this much fun getting to know someone, and he couldn’t remember any instance when it had been this easy.

They’d covered a lot of ground in just a few hours. He’d learned that Gail was passionate about literature, art and classical music, but that she hadn’t had much in the way of leisure time. She had a quick mind and a quicker wit, and he’d laughed his ass off more than once. She told him that she’d had the same best friend since elementary school, like Jesse. And Gail had been through a lot with her ex-husband. Though she was discreet and kind when she talked about her ex, the basic story was enough for Jesse to comfortably stick Curtis Chapman in the “Grade-A Douche Bag” column. It was
no mystery why Gail had kept her distance from men since.

He’d noticed how Gail’s eyes lit up whenever she mentioned her daughter, an honors student waiting to hear whether she’d been accepted to the University of Pennsylvania. It had been just the two of them for many years now, and Jesse was impressed with how Gail had juggled everything.

He’d discovered that Gail’s laughter had a roller-coaster lilt to it, starting low, then building, then softening again. He’d enjoyed the ride every time.

And Jesse had figured out why he’d been so damn attracted to her from the start. He
liked
her. He’d liked her the first time they spoke and he’d gone on liking her. And all that was before he even touched on how enjoyable it was just to look at her.

Gail was beautiful, certainly. He loved that she’d let her hair down and it fell in soft waves around her face. He thought her eyes were stunning—a kind and warm café au lait that sparkled when she smiled, and that she’d accented with a single stroke of eyeliner on her upper lid. Those eyes were framed in long lashes and delicate, light eyebrows. He liked her little nose. And that silky peach-pink mouth—surely she’d noticed him staring at her lips. The truth was, he wanted to kiss her again. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough kissing.

The rest of Gail Chapman was, in a word, lovely. She had firm, delicate arms and soft, small hands. She was probably about a size eight, with a shapely bottom, nice but not overly large breasts, great legs and cute feet. A lot of women would have chosen to strut that kind of stuff in skintight Dolce and Gabbana. Not Professor
Gail. Her choice was breathable cotton from the L.L. Bean catalog.

The idea made him hard enough to cut glass.

“Am I keeping you from anything?” Gail asked. “We’ve been here a long time. I didn’t mean to monopolize your day.”

“Me?” Jesse was shaken from his stupor. “No. I’m enjoying myself immensely.”

She sent him a sweet smile, then lowered her eyes.

By this point, Jesse believed he had a decent working knowledge of Gail Chapman, and he knew his hunch had been more than wishful thinking. Beneath that mild-mannered exterior lurked a wild woman just
dying
to escape. She knew it, too. She’d basically admitted it back at the Hemingway house.
“I’m unstable, and very, very deprived.”

But Gail was still fighting it. She was still afraid of it. And Jesse decided that he was the man to facilitate her release. He’d provide her a safe and comfortable place where she could let it all go.

“How about you?” he asked. “Am I keeping you from anything?”

She thought that was funny. “Nope.” She looked right in his eyes and pursed her lips. “So tell me more about your day-to-day life.”

Jesse had been telling her his story all afternoon. Most of it, anyway. Sometime after his second glass of wine, he’d made a decision. Bottom line—he wouldn’t lie to her. Should Gail or her daughter ask if he was J. D. Batista, the author, he’d say yes, he was. Gail would probably be angry with him and think she’d been misled somehow, but he’d deal with that when it happened. In the meantime, Jesse’s plan was to tell her
enough of the truth that he could sleep at night, but not enough to alter the sweet and uncomplicated connection growing between them.

“Well, in addition to working on Fred’s boat and helping with the walking tours, I usually write every day.”

Gail’s eyes flew wide. “Seriously? You’re a writer?”

“I try to be,” he said, watching carefully for any flicker of recognition in her eyes. There was none.