Chapter 4
four
. . .
RORY
I’m fucking furious. Angry at Rich for being an oblivious asshole, but also annoyed that she didn’t set boundaries when he asked her to do something that put her at risk.
Or maybe I’m projecting. I haven’t exactly nailed the whole boundary thing myself, especially with my parents, who always have their own agenda.
I don’t know Rich, but he strikes me as the kind of guy who sends a steak back three times and thinks his money entitles him to control people. I’ve seen it before. Coral Cove Beach & Golf Club has plenty like him.
Growing up, I swam laps at the fifty-meter pool, ate overpriced crab cakes, and listened to men like him talk over everyone. Not all of them were bad, but Rich reminds me of the worst kind.
After I lit him up, he walked off like a dog with his tail between his legs.
I wanted to say more. Get him tossed from the club, but the squeal of the girls’ laughter playing on the beach reminded me of the occasion. A birthday party for a four-year-old who didn’t get to choose her dad.
Now, with the mermaid in my arms, I carry her toward the parking lot.
“Oh, I need my bag.” She points at a tan backpack I’d grabbed earlier.
I shift her in my arms and hand it over.
“Thank you.”
As I continue to walk, I notice how warm and soft she is against me. How her bare skin, slick with saltwater and sand, feels pressed to my chest. I steal a glance at her and notice the way sections of her blonde hair are still wet, clinging to her cheeks, while other parts are drying in wispy waves. She looks wild and beautiful.
Beneath wet lashes, she glances up to catch me staring.
When our eyes connect, something slams into me. Hard. Like a wave knocking the breath of out my chest.
I tear my gaze away. Focus. Just get her to safety.
At the edge of the lot, I spot a bench shaded by Loblolly pines. “There.”
“You can put me down now, Baywatch. I’m not going to drown on the sand.”
I huff out a laugh. She’s snarky. I like it.
“You’re still wearing a tail.”
“It’s fine. I’ll manage.”
The second I’m close enough to set her down she wiggles out of my arms, and I immediately mourn the loss of contact.
“I need to take this tail off and change.” Unbuckling the backpack, she rummages around in it and pulls out a pair of shorts. “Do you mind?” She gives me a sharp look and circles her finger, indicating for me to turn around.
I get it. She’s in a swimsuit, but still vulnerable, so I turn my back.
As I wait for her to change, I stand there, arms crossed, still angry with the situation she was put in.
“You shouldn’t have been out there. It wasn’t safe.”
“Trust me, I didn’t want to be out there. Rich requested it and I needed the job.”
I nod slowly, but my jaw tightens.
There’s no sound of movement behind me, just the harsh, raucous cries of the laughing gulls overhead.
“You okay back there?” I ask.
“Y-yeah, I’m good.”
“First time cosplaying as a mermaid?” I ask.
“Yes, if you must know. A friend offered me the job and I said yes.”
“Then why do it if you knew it might trigger an asthma attack?”
“I didn’t know I’d have to swim.” She groans. “And this thing is not easy to get off.”
There’s another minute of silent struggle.
“Damn it.” Her breath comes out in a frustrated puff.
“You need help?” I ask, turning my head slightly, but still giving her the privacy she asked for.
She’s quiet again, like she’s contemplating her options.
Then, finally, “Yes.” But I can hear the reluctance in her voice.
I get it. We’re strangers and she’s in a vulnerable position, but there’s no way I’d take advantage.
With her request for help, I turn around to face her.
“I’m Rory.”
“Yeah, I caught that back at the party.”
“And you are?” I ask.
“Ariel,” she says, smirking. “Don’t you remember?”
“You’re really not going to tell me your name?”
She squirms on the bench. “Maybe after you help me out of this tail.”
“Okay.” I nod, then kneel to examine the problem.
A quick tug of the material at her hips tells me this tail isn’t going anywhere without a fight. After having made similar mistakes wearing gear into the ocean that was form fitting, I know exactly what the issue is.
“This material wasn’t designed for salt water. The salt increased the friction when it dried, and created a suction effect.”
“Are you an expert in this kind of thing?” she asks, her blue eyes challenging me.
“Hydrodynamics. It’s kind of my specialty.”
Her eyes widen. “What do I do?”
I give her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
“Okay, so do it,” she requests, motioning toward the tail.
I move in closer.
“Wait! Don’t rip it. I have to return it.”
“I won’t rip it. But I need to break the suction.”
“Break the suction? How are you going to do that?” she asks.
I lift my hands out in front of me.
“With your freakishly large hands?” Her eyes bulge. “How are you going to get those inside?” She motions toward her hips. “They’re not going to fit. It’s too tight.”
At that exact moment, an older woman walking her dog appears along the path next to us. She looks taken aback at our conversation and hurriedly steers her dog down toward the beach.
“Oh my god. Did she think…”
I laugh. “Yep.”
“Get your head out of the gutter!” she yells after the woman. “I’m a mermaid in distress!”
“All right,” I say. “Let’s get this done.”
“So, you have to stick your hands,” she points to the waistband of the tail, “here?”
“You okay with that?” I ask.
She presses her lips together, thinking, then slowly nods her head. “Yes.”
“Hold onto the bench.”
She grips the edge, and I attempt to wedge my hands between her skin and the stuck material.
It’s not working. I frown.
“Flip over.”
Her jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“I need a better angle.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Gently, I guide her to her stomach. As she shifts, I catch sight of a delicate wildflower tattoo on her wrist.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
I pull my attention away from the tattoo, and slide my fingers under the waistband. The fabric clings stubbornly, but it starts to give.
“I think you got it.” She sighs with relief.
Not yet. The sides are loose, but we still need to clear her ass.
I hover over her, gripping her hips, while trying to ignore the feel of her beneath my hands.
“Almost,” I mutter.
“It’s so close. Please! Just get it off!” She groans.
With a final push, I slide my hands along the small of her back, breaking the suction. She lets out a relieved whimper.
“Ah, sweet relief,” she groans, head resting on the bench.
I tug the tail the rest of the way off. “You’re free.”
She’s still lying there when a voice cuts through the moment.
“That’s them.”
Both our heads lift in the direction of the voice. The woman who had walked by earlier with her dog is standing there pointing at us. Next to her, a security officer.