48. Sloane #2
“And food?” The preppy guy holds platters in each hand—one of veggies and dip, the other fruit.
The two striking blonds behind him carry grocery bags stuffed with chips and soda against their ample bikini-clad chests.
White bikinis, at that. Brave girls. Who are they in this mix?
A jealous twinge in my gut says they’re not also Connor’s sisters.
Has Ronan fucked either of them ?
Is he fucking one right now? Am I about to shuttle Ronan and his girlfriend around for the afternoon?
This is going from bad to worse, very quickly.
“Plenty of ice in the cooler.” I force a wide smile and step back, allowing them space to pass. The dock rocks with their shifting weight.
Finally, Ronan reaches the tiki boat, his ripped arms laden with boxes of margarita cans.
I hold my breath as he stalls, his looming body so close taking me back to those shared moments in an instant. My traitorous pulse races once again.
“Hey, sea witch.” His voice is as raspy as ever.
I can’t ignore him, as much as I’d like to. “Hi.”
Simple.
Cordial.
Civilized.
Nothing like our last encounter, which ended with me naked and letting him come inside me.
Chaos erupts as everyone tosses cans into the drink trough, their laughter and giddiness carrying across the slips. It’s a suitable distraction.
“I had no idea Ryan booked this until ten minutes ago,” Ronan continues.
Steeling my nerve, I meet his hidden gaze head-on. “Will that be a problem for you and your friends ?”
His lips part but he stalls, studying me for a lengthy moment that weighs me down, even as I do my best to appear unbothered. “No problem at all.”
“Good.” My tone, by comparison, is clipped.
“And they are all just friends.”
“I didn’t ask.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up. With amusement? Is this a game to him? “I wanted to call but?—”
“The sooner you take your seat, the sooner we can leave,” I blurt loudly, cutting off his lame excuse for ghosting me .
“Yeah, come on, you heard the captain! Stop dragging your lazy ass. These ladies flew here to have some fun.” Connor ropes his giant arms around the two bleached blonds, pulling them snug against his chest. For their part, they don’t fight it, smashing their curvy bodies into him with giggles, their palms resting on his ample pecs.
I stifle the urge to roll my eyes.
Ronan sighs heavily. “I hope you’re ready for a long afternoon.”
“You don’t say.” Every nerve ending in my body seems on edge as he moves away, leaving the delicious scent of mint for me to trail.
“Hey, you got a sound system on here? Sweet. I’m gonna jump on that,” Connor declares, pulling out his phone.
“No!” Ryan and Ronan exclaim in unison.
“So, everyone just hangs out here all day?” Rachel, the blond with the high ponytail, stares in awe at the cluster of anchored watercraft ahead, a medley of pontoons, speedboats, and modified barges like this tiki bar, plus the odd—and in my view, annoying—Jet Ski.
The fact that Sea Witch invested in several for money-making purposes has no bearing on my personal opinion.
“Hang, swim, float, drink.” I navigate us toward the left side of the sandbar as a throaty male singer belts out a twangy country song over the speakers—Connor won the playlist battle simply by being too quick on the draw for anyone to stop him.
“Any given day in season, we’ll have hundreds of boats out here.
Once, last summer, they counted over a thousand. ”
The other blond, Katie, mouths “ Wow ” while Kyle—Ryan’s boyfriend—whistles.
“Sounds like I need to get myself a boat.” Connor polishes off the rest of his beer and, first crushing the can in his massive hand, tosses it freestyle into the trash bin beside me.
“Hot dogs?” Ryan points to the nearby dinghy with the bright yellow flag affixed to the back.
“Yup. We have vendors selling everything from ice cream to Chick-Fil-A to slushies. Even coffee.” And they’re all employed by Ian Sanders, a bloated councilman who convinced the county to limit the Starfish Island vendor licensing to avoid oversaturation.
Guess who got all of them? Sanders Sandbar Merchants— his company.
He has a full monopoly. It’s been a sore spot for the Sea Witch for years.
I toss a wave at the sheriff’s patrol boat—Jimmy’s behind the wheel today. I know a lot of them. Gigi used to know them all. She’d drop off home-baked banana muffins every now and then and memorized their names while ensuring they knew ours.
As much as I hate baking, I should probably get back to that tradition.
“So, when did you guys come up with this floating tiki bar idea?” Ronan asks.
The question catches me off guard. It’s the first time he’s spoken directly to me since we undocked.
He’s been quiet, in general—nothing more than a “Sure, thanks” or a “Nah, I’m good” to questions thrown his way.
But he has texted someone several times.
Is it because he’d rather be anywhere than here? It’s impossible to read him.
“Gigi built and captained the first one back in 1991 with the help of some friends, paying them in pitchers of margaritas,” I recite the marketing copy from the Sea Witch website as I steer.
“People loved it so much, she built another one and hired a retired navy officer named Bob Dewar to captain it.” I spare a smile as I remember the kindly man who passed away from a heart attack when I was fourteen.
He was as much a fixture around our lives as Frank is now.
“Since then, Sea Witch has replaced the original tiki boats and added a third to meet demand. We sail seven days a week during the high season, weather permitting. People from all over America come to Mermaid Beach to enjoy the white sands. Families, college kids, business groups. Everyone has a good time here.”
I deftly weave past anchored pontoons and a yellow floating carpet holding four girls in bikinis, sun-tanning under a cloudless sky. Starfish Island at this time of year is generally a who’s who of hot bodies.
“And it is much appreciated.” Connor winks at them as we pass, earning their fawning giggles and double takes. His tank top came off seconds after we pulled away from the dock, and now his glorious body—he may be an ass, but he is attractive—is on display for all to see.
Ryan shakes her head at her brother before dismissing his antics, leaning in to steal a kiss from her boyfriend.
They’re a cute couple. Of the three females, she seems the most levelheaded, mature.
I haven’t heard much from Katie and Rachel besides them sharing tawdry Wolf Hotel gossip.
It sounds like Katie works in the spa and Rachel rakes in tips from sleazy businessmen lingering at the hotel bar.
Even Ryan was talking about how happy she is to have moved into Wolf’s finance department.
They all bow to the devil himself, save for Kyle—a self-proclaimed economics geek working for a hedge fund.
“We’re going to anchor near our Sea Witch sister tiki bar.” I point ahead to where Jeremy has made room among the revelers and is waving me in. Families usually stick to the far right of the sandbar, where it’s especially shallow and less rowdy.
I reduce my speed, and we coast in. Cutting our engine, I quickly drop anchor alongside his, securing it so we don’t drift.
“This looks so fun!” Katie exclaims, her bright eyes scraping over the row of guys doing shots nearby.
To our left, another group tosses a football around in thigh-deep water, the emerald-green an idyllic backdrop.
Far on the right side, where it’s slightly deeper, are clusters of pontoons with slides.
“We’ve officially stationed, so enjoy! But remember, no diving .
” Every year, some fool inevitably goes headfirst into the water and is carried out on a stretcher.
“Pay attention to the current and boats. And if you see marine life, appreciate it from a distance!” It’s always an exciting time when dolphins or manatees make an appearance.
“You hear that, girls? Go forth and get wet .” Connor gestures to the platform.
In seconds, Katie and Rachel leap in with giddy splashes, followed closely by Ryan and Kyle, who lets out a comical squeal.
“It’s refreshing!” Jeremy hollers with a grin from Tiki Two .
“That’s polite for ball-retreating cold.” Connor surveys the various groups before his focus snags on a brunette with rich brown skin, lying on her pool float, her ample ass on full display in a beige thong that may as well not exist.
I can only imagine the kind of dirty thoughts going through this guy’s head. “Sounds like your balls could do with a little retreat,” I mutter under my breath.
Ronan chuckles into his beer. “You have no idea.”
After a deep humming sound, Connor breaks his focus and snaps his fingers. “Tequila.”
Ronan groans. “It’s too early?—”
“Fuck that. You owe me.”
“For what ?” The incredulity on Ronan’s normally stony face is comical.
“You begged me to leave Miami so you wouldn’t be alone and, being the amazing friend that I am, I dropped everything , abandoned my entire life back home, to come here. For you.”
“Are you kidding me?” Ronan slides off his sunglasses to stare in bewilderment at his friend.
Damn, this boy’s face has been blessed, as Gigi says. I could admire it all day long .
“I barely mentioned coming to Mermaid Beach and you had your bag packed. You’ve been throwing parties every night in that monster house. And I got you a promotion!”
“Exactly. More responsibility! Since when do I want that? But I did it for you !” Connor jabs Ronan in the chest with his index finger, earning Ronan’s chuckle. “And then we get here and you’re MIA the whole time. Seriously, dude, where have you been for the past two weeks?”
Yeah, good question! I busy myself with the ice trough, pretending not to listen as Ronan’s friend berates him. But at least I’m not the only one asking. And if I’m not the only one, then maybe he hasn’t been avoiding me .