Float My Boat

Prologue

Ten years ago

I t had been three months, but it still felt like everyone was staring. Making jokes. Whispering. Every time I went to the rowing club, it felt the same, my presence no longer about hard work, training, and my efforts to get onto the national squad and go to the Olympics. Now all anyone cared about was—

‘Hey, Miri!’ called one of the juniors—an obnoxious seventeen-year-old who’d hit on me more than once. But today his tone put me on edge.

I turned, giving him a, What the fuck do you want? kind of glare.

‘You know how you like older men …?’ he shouted for all to hear, his tone suggestive.

I turned away, closed my eyes for a beat, then climbed into my single scull without giving him the satisfaction of an answer.

It didn’t deter him. ‘Maybe you should pick Mac next!’

The kid and his friends all fell about laughing, seeing as Mac was the oldest member of the rowing club. He could barely walk, could barely hear, in short, was not long for this world …

I pushed away from the pontoon, glad of the easy escape. I’d definitely found myself in worse predicaments in recent times, but something about being belittled by someone who could barely keep a boat afloat grated more than usual.

‘You can run but you can’t hide!’ he shouted after me.

‘How about Coach Jimmy?’ one of the others hollered, emboldened by his idiot friend.

I gritted my teeth, telling myself to ignore them.

‘That’s the one!’ laughed the first kid. ‘Look! She’s blushing!’

‘Fuck it,’ I whispered, raising my head to stare them down. ‘I have never dated anyone at the rowing club,’ I shouted, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear, so very tired of the lies and bullshit and out and out bullying. ‘And I damned well never will!’

The junior and his friends made ooo-noises, high-fiving for eliciting a reaction, and anger and frustration burned hot in my veins. I tried not to let it affect me, taking a half-stroke and focusing on maneuvering myself away from the moored boats in the marina, wanting only to get away, to lose myself in the rhythm and flow of exercise, and the feeling of flying up the river. But then the ooo-ing abruptly ceased, and my eyes flicked to the group of their own accord, where I found Andrew, a tall, blonde, new-ish member of the club standing over the kids, and he did not look impressed, his face scrunched into a dark scowl.

Andrew was intimidating, or so all my friends thought. Quietly brooding, divine to look at, and powerfully built. I wasn’t sure what I thought of him, exactly, but intimidating didn’t quite fit. Intrigue was more like it. He was so mysterious, keeping himself to himself.

I couldn’t hear what he said to the juniors, but I could feel his fearsome energy from where I bobbed up and down on the water, openly watching.

The juniors ducked their heads, looking down at their feet while their mouths moved, then scuttled off into the boathouse. And then Andrew turned and looked up, our eyes meeting across the open space, and my stomach clenched at the warmth in his eyes. He gave the smallest of nods, and I returned the gesture, willing him to understand my gratitude, and realizing that maybe intrigue wasn’t quite the right emotion after all.