Chapter Nine
Anson
T he deck of the boat smells like fish guts and saltwater, but after years of this, I don’t even notice anymore. The late afternoon sun beats down on us as we hose off the remnants of the day’s charter. The tourists had a hell of a time, reeling in snapper and mahi-mahi, snapping pictures like they’d conquered the ocean. Sebby and Donnie Dale took off as soon as we docked. Now, it’s just me, Sebastian, and Parker, scrubbing the deck, rinsing the rods, putting everything back in order before we dock for the night.
Parker is the first one to bring it up.
“So, Anson,” he says, dragging the hose across the deck, a smirk already curling his lips, “how’d it go with Tabby last night?”
He and Audrey were grilling on the deck when I returned after delivering the wind chimes to Sabel last night. When I declined to join them for burgers, I told them about my plans to take Tabby to dinner.
“Who’s Tabby?” Sebastian asks.
Parker turns to him and says, “Do you remember the girl I mentioned who walked into Margot’s store, thinking it was a pawnshop? Lover boy here spent fifteen hundred dollars to buy her ring because he thought she was hot.”
“Oh, yeah. That was funny as shit,” Sebastian says, his amused eyes looking at me. “What the hell are you gonna do with a woman’s ring?”
“Nothing. I was just helping out a girl in need. Assholes.”
“Uh-huh. Bet if she’d been a man in need instead, you’d have sent him to the nearest legit pawnshop,” he mutters.
I let out a breath, scraping fish scales off the side rail with my knife. “Whatever. And to answer the question, the date was fine.”
Sebastian snorts. “That all you got? It was fine ? That ain’t how you usually talk about a date.”
They both know me too well. I’m not the relationship type. I keep it fun, light. The women who come here on vacation want the same thing—some sun, some drinks, maybe a few nights tangled up in the sheets before they head back to wherever they came from. No strings, no complications. That’s how I like it.
Except Tabby isn’t like that.
I glance at the other guys. They’re waiting for me to spill, so I sigh and give in. “I thought it was going great. We were laughing, talking, had a couple of tacos at the Salty Hammock.”
Parker raises an eyebrow. “And?”
“And I leaned in to kiss her, but I guess I’d misread the signals.”
Sebastian grins. “Damn. You fumbled, didn’t you?”
“Not exactly.” I shake my head. “Right when I was about to go for it, she told me what she really needed right now was a friend.”
Silence. Just the sound of the waves slapping against the hull.
Then, Parker bursts out laughing. “Oh man, you got friend-zoned?”
Sebastian chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s brutal.”
I scowl. “I didn’t get friend-zoned. I agreed to be her friend.”
Parker laughs harder. “Yeah, which is exactly what happens when you get friend-zoned.”
I chuck the knife at him, but he dodges it, still grinning.
“Look,” I say, rolling my shoulders, “Tabby’s in a tough spot. She got stranded here. Doesn’t know anyone. I get it. She needs someone to have her back, and I told her I would. Which was a mistake. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”
Sebastian studies me, wiping his hands on a rag. “You say that like you don’t know how to be a friend.”
“I don’t,” I admit. “Not to a woman I want.”
That quiets them down for a second.
They exchange a look, and then Parker shakes his head. “Bullshit. You’re a good friend.”
I snort. “To you guys, sure.”
“And to our women,” Sebastian points out. “You helped Parker fix things with Audrey, and you hung out with her friend Heather. You checked on Avie when she was sick and I was stuck on a charter. You and Amiya are like two peas in a pod. You’re a better friend than you give yourself credit for.”
“This is different,” I mutter, grabbing the hose and blasting a patch of dried blood off the deck.
“Because you want in her pants?” Parker teases.
I shoot him a look. “Because I like her. And, yeah, I want her, but it’s more than that.” I lean against the rail, staring out at the open water. “She’s tough. Independent. She could’ve left the island when her ex bailed, but she stayed. She made a home for herself in that tiny-ass RV. And she’s hot, yeah, but it’s not just that. I like talking to her. I like knowing she’s down at the campground, that I can stop by and see her.”
Sebastian crosses his arms. “So, be her friend.”
I sigh. “I don’t know how.”
“You do,” Parker says. “Just don’t try to sleep with her.”
I scoff. “That’s the trick, huh?”
“Pretty much,” Sebastian says. “You flirt with vacationers because they’re leaving and you like keeping things simple. But Tabby’s staying. If you really want her in your life, then keep it simple in a different way. Be there. Listen. Don’t expect anything in return.”
I let that sink in. Be there. Listen. No expectations.
It sounds easy when they say it like that. But nothing about Tabby feels easy. She’s got this wild streak, this way of making me want to be close to her.
And I shouldn’t be thinking about her like that.
Parker slaps me on the back. “You’ll figure it out, man. And if you screw it up, we’ll be here to laugh at you.”
“Appreciate it,” I say dryly.
We finish cleaning up, tying down the gear and hosing off the last of the mess. By the time we’re done, the sun is dipping low, turning the water gold.
As I step off the boat, I check my phone for the hundredth time. Still no message from Tabby. This morning, I dropped off my spare phone for her on my way to work, and she planned to borrow Pete’s bike to get it turned on today. I want to ride back out to the campground to see why she hasn’t texted me her new number yet, but that might come across as a bit stalkerish. She asked for a friend after all.
I guess it’s time to figure out how to be one.