Chapter 12 Maverick #2
We fall into a rhythm—me doing the actual work, her pretending to. Which oddly enough doesn’t bother me. Normally, I’d be irritated by someone coasting, but with Annabelle? I like hearing her commentary. The sarcasm. The offbeat observations.
“Do you think we’ll survive if we get stranded out there?” she asks, pointing toward the tree-covered island. “Because I’ve seen plenty of survival shows, and some of them ended in disaster.”
“We’re going, like, a hundred feet offshore. You’ll be fine.”
“What if there’s a bear?”
“There’s not.”
“There could be. Did you know that your buddy Harris is like super afraid of them?”
No, I did not.
She tips her head back toward me again. “Hey, another random question.”
“Go.”
“What would you be doing if you weren’t playing football?”
I have an answer for her this time. “Fixing up houses.”
She looks surprised by this response. “How long have you wanted to do that?”
“I don’t know. I do already own several rental properties—they’re new, though, and don’t need much work.” I shrug. “Maybe one of these days I’ll buy a total dump and redo it by hand. Get a dog. Grow a beard.”
She hums like she approves. “You’d make a hot carpenter.”
I grin at her backside. “Was that a compliment?”
She doesn’t answer right away—just dips her hand into the lake, skimming her fingers through the water as the kayak glides along the shore.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she finally says, flicking a few droplets back in my direction. “But yes. That was a compliment.”
“Got any other ones?”
Annabelle goes quiet, as if she has to think long and hard about a second way to flatter me. “You have great shoulders.”
I do actually. Most professional athletes do. “Gee, thanks.”
We paddle in companionable silence for a bit, the water slapping softly against the hull of the kayak. The island is closer now, its rocky shore dotted with tall grass and a few crooked trees. There’s no one else out on the lake yet, if you don’t count a few fishermen.
Annabelle tilts her head again. “Okay, your turn.”
“For what?”
“To ask me a random question.”
I paddle once, twice, then lean back, letting us glide aimlessly. “All right. If you could instantly master one useless skill with absolutely no value—what would it be?”
She grins. “Oooh, that’s a good one.”
“I know.” I smirk. “I only ask hard-hitting stuff.”
She hums, clearly thinking. “Okay. I want to be able to tear open a bag of chips without gnawing through them all like an animal.”
I blink. “That’s your answer?” Is she being serious?
My appalled tone doesn’t faze her in the least. “You said useless.”
I laugh, adjusting my grip on the paddle. “Fine, that’s fair. My turn, then.”
She twists around, eyebrows raised. “To answer your own question?”
“Yes. If I could master one useless skill, it would be dancing. I suck at it, and I hear dancing makes the ladies go wild.”
“So—Magic Mike?”
“Okay, wow. That escalated.”
She snorts. “You said you wanted to make ladies go wild. I’m just being specific.”
“Well, I was thinking more like . . . wedding reception moves. Like, I don’t want to be the guy who claps offbeat to the ‘Cha Cha Slide.’”
She gasps. “You clap offbeat?”
Yes. Yes, I clap offbeat. “So what?”
Annabelle laughs at that, the sound echoing across the lake, and I hate to admit how much I like it.
“We could practice,” she says after a moment. “Tonight at the wedding reception—surely there’ll be dancing. There always is.”
I blink. “Wait, so now you’re saying you want to crash the wedding? What made you change your mind?”
She shrugs, a sly smile creeping across her lips as she turns her body to look at me. “I mean, if you really want to impress me with your rhythm, I’m willing to entertain the idea.”
Shit. This was a fun conversation when she hated the idea.
It was more fun to tease her.
Then she goes on. “I don’t think the bride would appreciate two strangers practicing my sweet moves in the middle of her first dance.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
The kayak slides forward in the glassy water, the island’s shore now just a few yards away.
I can already see a decent place to pull up—bit of shoreline with a couple of low trees fallen in the water, with crooked branches that look like they’d be perfect for climbing or jumping off as the sun rises higher in the sky.
“You think anyone would actually notice us?” I ask, more curious than serious.
Annabelle shrugs. “Depends. Are you a good enough dancer to steal focus?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Well, then yes,” she says. “We’d be very noticeable.”
The front of the kayak bumps gently against the rocks, scraping enough to jolt us both forward a few inches. Annabelle makes a delighted noise and hops out before I can even get my paddle situated and steady across the top of the kayak.
“Okay, this is magical,” she says, hauling herself up onto the rocky beach and stretching her arms overhead. “Do you think it’s haunted?”
“Why would you say that?” I frown as I climb out after her, way less gracefully. “You say the most random shit.”
“Duh.” She gestures wildly around her. “Look at this place! No one is here. That old tree over there that definitely has cursed vibes—creepy AF. Dude, there’s an outhouse.”
“Just because no one is here doesn’t make it haunted. It’s nine in the morning.”
Annabelle is already removing her shoes. Tosses them to higher ground. Pulls off her T-shirt to reveal the sports bra underneath. Wades into the water.
“You coming?” She is almost waist deep, arms hanging at her sides as she smiles over at me—unaware of the way the sun kisses her bare shoulders—and I’m toast.
“I don’t have swim trunks.”
She spins in a little circle, water rippling around her. “So?”
I arch a brow. “What happens when they get soaked and leave absolutely nothing to the imagination?”
Annabelle doesn’t miss a beat. “Then you’ll finally contribute something valuable to this trip.”
I blink.
She winks.
“Jesus,” I say. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”
She shrugs, grinning. “You’re welcome?”
This girl. She’s relentless.
“Now get your ass in the water.”